Emperor of Darkness
by Ninyria
Summary: While Last Dovahkiin Drusus is consumed by agents of darkness all thanks to the subjection to Boethiah, Nyrin responses to Miraak's threats to open and expose the portals of his already endangered race, the snow elves. Can he save the Last Dovahkiin from suffering the same fate as the First? M/M, Dark Elf x Snow Elf, MPREG!
1. Chapter 1: Signs of Evil Will

**Title** : Emperor of Darkness

 **Fandom** : Skyrim

 **Characters** : M!Dragonborn/Dovahkiin and OC Snow Elf

 **Rating** : M for Mature

 **Warnings** : Angst, Violence, M/M Slash, MPreg

 **Summary** : While Last Dovahkiin Drusus is consumed by agents of darkness all thanks to the subjection to Boethiah, Nyrin responses to Miraak's threats to open and expose the portals of his already endangered race, the snow elves. Can he save the Last Dovahkiin from suffering the same fate as the First?

 **Writer's Notes** : I only played Skyrim, not other series so please forgive me if there were some factual errors, concerning the Elder Scrolls lore. This is my first Skyrim fanfiction. Also, there will be m/m pairing, which means same-sex romance and MPreg, which involves pregnant male so if either isn't your cup of tea, don't read. lol.

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Chapter I: Signs of Evil Will

As the sky went from dark to black, the Dovahkiin felt something stirring within him. The souls he had consumed before now have returned from the darkest abyss of Oblivion to him; summoned to be in his timeless prison of hatred, hunger, and lust... He opened his eyes and found himself fully awake by the time he reached outside in the cold.

His former-red, now black eyes were greeted with an astonishing sight of heavy mist cloaking the sleeping mountains. The night was awake. He was the night.

It was delightful to feast upon the lost souls of all Skyrim. All from the castle's balcony.

In the horizon beyond the black clouds, the shining moon illuminated strange, dancing shadows, which resembled dragons. But there were too many. Hard to believe they would be dragons but nevertheless, the Dovahkiin gazed at the skyline with awe.

"I want to go there, wherever that is," Drusus Dredhendis said, jerking his head toward the distance as he sensed a familiar presence coming from behind him.

"Solstheim?" Serana said, upon seeing the maelstrom across the vast ocean. She shook her head, "Doesn't look too good."

Drusus smiled to himself. Ever since he slayed his first dragon, he felt an anew hunger, not just for blood. He wanted even more of that exhilaration feeling of having more power and knowledge to his thu'um.

"One day, when I'm ready, I will slay all of them."

"Some of them are pets to the gods," Serana said, regarding the named dragons of the legends. "So be careful if you do, you might piss one off."

Drusus scoffed, mildly disappointed with her comments. He never believed or worshipped any deities. So her comments never provoked him in any way, let alone elicit words, rendering her as completely useless companion.

In fact, he never enjoyed her company. She was a bit too naive for his liking. Nothing she said ever pleased him. The only moment he enjoyed their journey together was killing her father. Admittedly, he was absolutely disgusted and terrified when he was forced to make a choice, certain that he would regret the night he stepped onto the island of Volkihar Keep. At first, he was feeling ashamed to allow him. Then, he was more than happy to eradicate that ugly, vile creature off the face of Tamriel. If it wasn't for Serana's assurance, he would never have done it. He'd rather die than to submit.

The satisfaction was beyond his imagination. Exceeded his expectation. The moment he slaughtered that man with his trustworthy daedric sword, with blood dripping from it and splattered all over his face and ebony armor, he felt the overwhelming feeling of relief and he heard the familiar laughter in his mind.

 _Good... Gooooood!_ It said thirstily. _THAT is why I chose you... Doesn't it feel so good?_

"N'malshok juli," he murmured in response, angry that he was enslaved. Seeing upon the lifeless corpse missing its head, he was reminded that he was rewarded with another 'being'. "Thanks, s'wit."

Although, he became the very man he despised since the first meeting, he was nothing like Serana's father. So it gave him the alleviation he needed very much. Now he didn't have to worry about 'obeying' him or being controlled anymore.

By killing him, he also acquired his powers and took his place. But he had no interest or any intention to stay there. Pathetic servants of the former begged him and insisted he to stay to rule because apparently, they did not know life without being commanded.

The malicious voice in his mind agreed that he must leave to pursue his rightful claims. And it was the daedric prince of deceit, treason, and sedition. In other words, an enemy of authority. One of the many agents of indefinite and infinite darkness. Not all daedra are evil, but through man's perception, which always changes, may one day, turns totally opposite. Sometimes, it's for the best to view things in terms of positive/negative, beneficial/harmful, or light/darkness. Unfortunately, because of man's nature, his tendencies are based on the physical manifestations- the experience, the suffering, which ultimately result in the obsession with negativity. Fear is one good example for playing such a huge role in creating such chaos going on in this world.

Drusus only let himself be seduced by one 'evil', and that was Boethiah.

He was perfect.

Beautiful as a man and a woman.

Hate, hate, hate being the low of the lowest

He implored his desires to break free of all chains

Of all things within the system.

Reading forbidden books made him a rascal.

Stealing a bread when hungry made him a criminal.

Loving one from another race made him an infidel.

So in Boethiah's name, Drusus vowed to break and destroy every rule that oppressed him, his people, and all of Skyrim. He would gladly eradicate his own kind for the greater good. He was no one's friend but even if he had a 'friend', he would stab him/her in the front instead of in the back to show the face that belongs to his. Sacrifice.

Sacrifice had to be made at Boethiah's calling at ones of his shrines in the northeast of Riften. He had killed the Guildmaster. He no longer had the need to associate himself with the Thieves Guild as he was currently the member of the Dark Brotherhood. He planned to go the Dark Sanctuary after Whiterun.

II

After spending a day in Solitude, Drusus immediately left when it was dusk. But the feeling of hostility never left him. The townspeople gave him dirty looks, mainly because they were in favor of the Imperials and Drusus was obviously not. He couldn't help but feel the hatred following him as he left. He got onto his horse, Shadowmere, from its stable and headed south.

 _They will come and get you.._. the voice inside his head said. Drusus knew already but still kept his cool composure as if he had no idea. Little did they know, his ebony mail could detect any hostile enemies within his vicinity. But how far or close they are was something Drusus would have to figure out on his own. Boethiah do not tell him what type of enemy he could be facing. Instead, he'd drop a hint or two.

 _They think so highly of themselves._

When he took the roads, he kept his ears perked up to listen to something of a cyclic nature, repetitive, like a constant rush of water... the river. It served him as a guide all the way until the surroundings became thicker and Drusus decided to take a shortcut into an area of densely vast forests, rich with sounds of mammals and insects. By then, the sun already reached the horizons and everything became dark to the point when he couldn't tell blue from green. His natural vision had begun to take over, making everything more in the spectrum of gray shades, making it easier for him to see in the dark. The trees were sticking out branches like thorns. Nature was beautiful... but very cruel.

His armor gave out black, inky aura as he heard some movement. A rustling around the bushes. He stopped his horse and listened carefully.

 _Finally! They're here_ , the voice was revived from boredom, canceling the possibility of a wandering animal of the wilderness.

 _Shut up_ , Drusus thought, starting to find it annoying. His eyes scanned the area; however, before he could entirely, he heard a little sound of thwish, as something was ejected, and followed by a thwang of a string. And finally, a whoosh just before it hit him in his ribcage.

He growled as piercing pain made him crouch over. Shadowmere neighed loudly and reared up on her two legs in protest. He pulled onto the horse's reins and once she went back on the ground, he turned around toward the direction the arrow came and got off.

Grunting, he broke off the wooden part of the arrow and threw it away, now furious. From the sheath, he took out his daedric sword to face the enemies. Before he could yell at them to show themselves, another whoosh came to him, hitting him in the shoulder. It was nothing compared to the first shot. Unfazed, he snapped the arrow's wooden shaft with ease.

"Die, you heretic!" an unmistakable voice belonging to an elf came out of the bushes. Two more Thalmors came out as well. One mage with the other a warrior with shield. The archer took another shot but with the sword Drusus easily blocked it, by reflecting the arrow at perfect timing. On his left hand was a ward spell and he cast it on himself to ignore the mage attempting to electrify him.

Focused on the archer with inextinguishable ire, he approached to him quickly, forcing him to withdraw his bow for a suitable weapon for close combat. But it proved to be late as Drusus lowered himself to deliver an experienced heavy punch into the archer's stomach, sending him to fly backward. His armor's inky substance followed the body, draining some of his health.

The Thalmor with the shield responded by swinging her glass sword over her head upon him. Drusus lifted his sword to clash with hers. She got too close that she became baffled with the ink crawling her skin. She started to panic and Drusus spun to swing his sword, gracefully beheading her. Blood splattered onto his arm.

"Impossible!" the mage exclaimed as the head rolled down into the ravine. He kept his distance away from the dark elf. The alluring spells in his hands kept changing their colors. He didn't have the time to make up his mind when Drusus gave him an unnerving grin. He already had something on his mind on dealing with this detestable mage. Fear gripped the high elf.

Drusus curled his left hand. Having came from the realms of snow, he opened the gates he knew all of his life- the cold and bitter icy winds came forth spiraling around, embracing him like a child from a glacial abyss. Heart frostbitten and hardened like a diamond; the wind came with the water, forming into spikes of ice. Drusus counted his curses, intensifying his spell from his mind, heart, and soul... if he had any left.

"By the crystals, no!" the mage said, surprised that Drusus was even capable of managing such a powerful spell he thought only Thalmor elves knew. It was evidently a matter of 'fight fire with fire', but with frost.

Drusus then opened his curled fist to unleash the inverted hell. The arctic frost roared as it rushed to the enemy. The frost went through the mage's greater ward, which was somehow premeditated by something else, shattering it, exploding the magic effects into the air before vanishing. As soon it hit the mage, the frost spread throughout his body, freezing him. His eyes tensed painfully. And the body's heat fought and groaned at the crackling of his organs. His heartbeats slowed down drastically. And he was beginning to suffocate. He tried to move, to break free before it was too late but no avail.

Only thing he could do was to watch in horror as Drusus approached him with, again, a spell of different color- orange. A rather weak spell that he did not know well or was trained well with.

"Thalmor," he said disgustedly. His hatred for them was strong, so strong it was indescribable with words and he wouldn't give any of it a second thought when dealing with one of them. Thalmors were high in order of society. If anyone asked, he hated this mer the most- the Altmers, "You high elves should be completely eradicated."

As this enemy fell into eminent silence, being frozen and all, Drusus casually flung the flame spell on his statue-like body and walked away. The frost wasn't just elemental but also spiritual. It continued to trap the Thalmor as he burned. Inside, the mage wanted to scream in agony as the clash of ice and flame seared him in a gruesome manner, as if he was slowly being mangled apart in half.

Drusus heard the dark deity howling in laughter as he turned to his horse, completely delighted with the meal of suffering mortals. He growled, placing his hand on his face. He could feel the pain being absorbed and the nuisance of laughter accompanying it. "Shut up!"

It faded but the buzzing in his ears wasn't giving up any time climbing his horse, Drusus shoved his gloved fingers into his shoulder's wound, digging out the arrowhead.

"Guh," he grunted painfully as the shallow pain twinged nearby nerves and when he yanked it out of his muscle tissues, some blood spurted on his fingers. He threw the bloody arrowhead down in frustration. It wasn't the first time. He lost count...

Drusus climbed the horse, hissing at the piercing pain in his ribcage. He would have to make a camp soon to remove the arrowhead he could not see, ignoring that he could feel the infection already happening. He couldn't believe that it had made through the chain mail part of his armor. The enemy had been waiting, having plenty of time to hit his target. In the meantime, Dovahkiin went on his intended path to leave the scene of corpses.

III

 _Wake up, you idiot... or should I say s'wit?_

 _What do you want?_

 _Get up, you dumb elf! You're growing weak._

 _I'm fine, just leave me alone._

 _Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa_

Its voice which sounded like a groan at first turned into a rumbling ringing and humming- strong enough to rattle his mind from a deep sleep.

Drusus protested softly, turning over to the other side, his hand touching the fur beneath... wait a minute. He didn't remember laying a piece of... Stirring to his consciousness, he opened his eyes slowly to see an unfamiliar environment. Something dark was blocking his vision beyond what was there and a burning lantern was in front of his face. He was inside of something. He got up quickly. Too quickly.

"Ugh.." Drusus groaned at the wound on his side and reached to touch it. He looked down and realized he was already bandaged up. _What the-_ He tried to remember setting up the camp himself. He certainly couldn't. By looking around his immediate surroundings, he realized he was inside a small tent. And he was completely bare naked with an exception of his matching armor pants.

Then someone came to peek inside the tent. A woman's face appeared at the flap. Long silky, shiny black hair like his, fell down from her shoulder.

"Hello, my friend."

Drusus narrowed his eyebrows, not recognizing her at all, "Who are you?"

"My name is Mordan. I found you along the trees, passed out... and your lovely horse," she said. Her voice was soft and gentle. "May I come in?"

Drusus made sure he covered himself with the blanket of skin and fur. He nodded, suddenly feeling stupid. She was so friendly. 'Mordan' came in and she had leather and skin clothes on. Huntress, perhaps but her face came into full view, thanks to the lantern. And it was still dark. Her face looked too soft for a huntress. Drusus felt uncomfortable, seeing that such beauty before him. She couldn't be a Nord... or Imperial. What in the oblivion was she?

"You passed out because there was poison in that arrowhead," she explained as she sat next to him. Drusus wondered why the voice wasn't talking at all. Of course, every time he take his armor off, the voice would shut up but still, something was not right.

"Where are my things?" Drusus asked. He wanted to get out as soon as possible. While waiting for a response, Drusus' eyes looked at her hourglass figure. Her breasts were well filled out and rounded in form in her leather brassiere and her hips were wide, yet very slim waist. She was far from muscular and in fact, it was difficult to believe a slim, pretty woman like her would be wandering in the wilderness by herself. She would be raped and killed, for sure.

She smiled as their eyes met again. Her brown eyes were endearing. Beautiful she wasl however, Drusus couldn't help but think it was some kind of a trap. Or maybe a dream. She was too beautiful- too perfect. "You are too weak, my dear."

"What- where are my things?" the dark elf demanded, exasperatedly. She was right. He wasn't feeling well and a huge part of him did not want to leave the incredible sensation of warmth and comfort. But his mind was restless.

"Don't worry. They're here," Mordan said calmly. She threw back her long hair back, revealing her flawless skin. The sight of her long neck made Drusus lick his lips unconsciously. Now he grew hungry. And the worst thing, she seemed to know and did it on purpose. Drusus broke that intense eye contact and scoffed.

"You're a demon," he muttered. Why would a daedra help him, though? Which daedra was she?

"Take a really good look at yourself, Dovah," Mordan whispered. Drusus almost took it as a taunt. "Soon enough, they will think you're a demon."

"Bring me my damn things and I'll be on my way," he said, refusing to look at her anymore. He wanted to get up and leave but he was growing both irritated and tired.

"Very well, but first you need your feed."

"I am not biting you, demon."

"Of course. Just as I thought," she said, getting up. She peeked out the tent. "There are hunters just up the hill. Come on. Hurry. They're waking up."

Mordan disappeared into the night. Sighing, Drusus got up and went out. It was still dark but he knew many hours had passed as morning dew filled his nose. With all the moisture in the air, it was very chilly to his skin. And the night sky had become navy blue. All the stars were gone into hiding. Not much time left before dawn. In the camp, he found his equipment and put everything back on. As he finished, he looked around but Mordan or Shadowmere was nowhere in sight.

 _You're back. What have you done with that detestable mortal?_

He ignored the voice and followed the smell burned animal flesh that was in the pitfire. After walking a mile, he spotted a few tents. And another being packing his sack. The fire went out a long time ago but it still burned through the cracks of wood. The Nord looked up to see him approaching. Since Drusus wasn't wielding any weapon or anything. He just walked up to the camp.

"Good morning?" he said, "How can I help you, traveler?"

Drusus looked at one of the tents, sensing there was someone else there, sleeping. It must be his girlfriend or wife.

"Leaving?"

"A-ah yes, we're packing things up. We're heading south, you know... where it's warmer," he said, chuckling. He didn't seem to be afraid of anything but still Drusus could tell he was tense. "B-but do you need anything? Trade? I have some food left over from last night if you're hungry?"

"Ah no," Drusus said quietly. He appeared to be lost in thoughts. "Thanks anyway..I'll be on my way. Safe travels."

The Nord nodded, smiling, "Thank you. You too!"

Drusus turned his back and left. But he was indeed hungry- very hungry. Of course how could he resist a free meal? Right in front of him? It would be foolish for him to let that go. So on second thought, he turned around again. Only this time, what the Nord uttered under his breath motivated him even more.

"What a scary-looking elf," he murmured, clearly relieved to see the dark elf out of sight. But little he knew, Drusus was completely cloaked into the night...or what remained of it. He sneaked right up behind the Nord.

"UNGGGH!" The Nord let out a piercing cry as Drusus grabbed him by his mouth and swiftly slit his dagger across his throat. The gurgling sound of blood broke out in the silence. Then he dropped the dead Nord. It was a quick kill. But the voice wasn't in approval.

 _Damn, he made a noise. .Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. You could've done better._

His wife came out of the tent and screamed in horror as soon as she saw her husband's corpse. She turned her head violently to see if anyone was there but never again she could see another mortal. Her assailant bit her in her neck so hard, she became partially paralyzed. Drusus sucked the life out of her... literally. His victim's legs became weak and it wasn't long before they gave out.

The warm blood that passed through his fangs was pleasantly pouring down his throat. He could feel his guts being filled and his night powers being restored. His body rejuvenated. Tickling sensations came to be his wounds being healed completely. Once satisfied, he dropped the lifeless corpse. The corpse fell into the pitfire and eventually, her hair caught fire.

Drusus licked his lips clean and it was only after feeding, his taste buds could pick up the taste of blood. It wasn't that good. It tasted like corundum- very coopery taste. But it was better than gnawing on piece of raw meat. He stood there for a while, watching the anew flame in its full life to consume the corpse.

 _You're becoming clumsy._ It snarled.

Gazing at the flames, Drusus began to think that his power was becoming too much of an inconvenience. And who was this 'Mordan'? He didn't want to ask the voice, even though it seemed to know her very well. He was not interested in meddling in with their affairs. He wondered, though if he could see her again. He never had such kindness being paid to him. Despite when he didn't deserve it.

He turned around and was startled by a bigger shadow than his. Shadowmere just appeared out of nowhere. Sighing, Drusus muttered to her, "I hate you sometimes."

IV

'Gosh, you don't look well'

'You look like you could use some sleep.'

'You look kinda pale.'

And so on, and Drusus was getting so sick of it, he felt it wouldn't take a lot for him to kill someone. He was far from ill. Or that was what Drusus'd like to think. So much had changed and inside, he could sense that. He wasn't the same as before. Ever since he killed his first dragon, people either wanted to be part of his fame or fear him. He was no longer ordinary man. At first, it felt amazing but then, after a while, with all these damned n'wah inquiring his personal life to fill in their own imagination- an epic legend- of having met a dragonborn, he sometimes wished he wasn't a Dovahkiin.

"A-a-ah! Mind spare a few coins?" a beggar in Whiterun rushed to him when he recognized who he was but not without limping. He placed both of his palms together toward him. For a Breton, wearing nothing but a ragged tunic and totally barefooted, he was too cheerful. He had been waiting by the entrance, baiting visitors to give into pity. Shrew little n'wah.

"Surely with your fame, you-"

"I will kill you," Drusus said in a short and sweet manner.

"May Azura watch your path!" the beggar said quickly, changing his mind about bothering him. To Drusus' surprise, he knew which goddess was revered by dark elves. Although, he himself was a dark elf, he neither cared nor worshiped any of them. He never understood why the citizens worship divines when it certainly looked like they were responsible for plunging this world into the age of darkness.

Even Drusus thought his status was an accident. Oftentimes, he was not what people expected.

Sighing in frustration, he headed toward to Jorrvaskr to visit his companions, to grab a few drinks, and lastly to grab some of his best weapons he had been storing there. Of course, he would stay there for a night or two.

Whiterun... he certainly didn't miss it. In fact, everything was suddenly alienating to him. It could be because it was daylight, but everything was too... pretty, clean, and... bright. Too bright for his eyes. He had his Nightingale hood/mask, leggings, gauntlets, and boots but his armor was of ebony mail. The hood helped reflected some sunlight from hitting his sensitive eyes.

As soon as he enter the mead hall of Jorrvaskr, everything darkened and he was much more comfortable. His companions at the dinner table turned their heads upon him. There were too few now, with three recently-deceased members were no longer could be here for any reunion.

"Harbinger!" Vilkas exclaimed, totally surprised and happy to see him.

"Drusus!" Farkas.

"Welcome back home, Shield-Brother." Aela the Huntress.

It felt like home, but also a lonely place. Drusus just nodded his head, acknowledging them and went straight to the private quarters downstairs, towards used-to-be-Kodlak's bedroom, now his. Inside, he immediately took his hood and mask off. Scent of old mead and burning candles filled his nose.

As Drusus began to take off his armor, he heard someone in the hallways; footsteps became louder each time as he approached. He knew which who. Meanwhile, he took the metal clamps off the main armor to loosen it from his chest, sounds of clicking broke out in the room, and along secondary metal mail, he took it over his head. It was incredibly heavy the first time he wore it; his arms and shoulders became sore as a result. But now, it was nothing. He could carry the ebony mail with ease.

"Drusus?" a meek voice said. "I-I don't mean to-"

The dragonborn had his back to Farkas and did not mind his presence at all. He acted as if nothing had changed. Farkas slowly came inside the room, closing the door. By then, Drusus already removed his pauldrons [arm guards] and the cuirass [undergarment].

"Mean to interrupt you..." Farkas' words fell silent as his eyes feasted upon naked flesh. The back of the dark elf was taut, so well-built Farkas found himself with that familiar mouth-watering lust. He couldn't believe at how much muscle Drusus gained since the last time he saw him. Although the wolf spirit inside him was banished, he still had that urge from time to time. To eat him. To devour him. Not literally. His sweaty, light gray skin looked so delicious at the moment. So sexy.

He swallowed hard, "I just want you to know-" he started to stutter, nervous. His heart fluttered wildly, "W-want you know that you know. I missed you."

Drusus smirked and turned around to face him. He put the last pieces of his armor on nearby chair. Then he took his obsidian black hair out of a pontytail so the hair could fall to join the strands that framed his unmistakably masculine face. "Yeah?"

"A-and there's something I need to tell you," Farkas said, finally sighing. He was trying hard not to have his eyes wander to his chest- at his hard pectorals, nipples, abs, and maybe... maybe he was as aroused as he?

"What is it?" Drusus said, never losing his cool composure. He seemed so different to Farkas. His very black, silky and shiny hair was very long compared to last time. It now fell past his shoulders. Being a dark elf, the skin he had was always dark gray but now it seemed to be much more pale. Something... was off. The figure was dark, very overwhelming with just his presence. Wait a minute, his eyes were completely blacked out. No blood-redness. Just empty void in these eyes. There were nothing to 'read'.

Farkas was gawking, questioning whether he was dreaming or not. It was almost surreal- being in the same room as a Dovahkiin and a-a ... Farkas didn't want to say this word. The strange, tinkling feeling in his body was indescribable.

Quickly, he broke eye contact and continued, "Well I-I was lonely- lonely here without you... it had been so long. I really missed you. A-and I-I met this really nice lady..."

Drusus chuckled, understanding where it was going. "Don't worry about it."

"Eh, H-harbinger..."

It wasn't like they were in a relationship or anything. They never discussed such things. Sure, they spent a few nights together in the same 'bed'. But for Drusus, they were driven by lust- sexual gratification. They did it to do each other a favor and that was all. If Farkas thought otherwise and that Drusus would be mad, he was sadly mistaken. They were too different.

Even if Drusus did have any ounce of feeling for the Nord, he surely didn't realize or have the time when he undertook a journey towards the northeast part of Skyrim, which hardened him.

Drusus came close to his former lover, so close till their breathing was loud compared to the silence in the room and noticed his becoming slower. It became clear Farkas had strong feelings for the dark elf, even though he made it look like he had betrayed his love.

"Farkas, you know that I care about you, right?" Drusus whispered and lifted the Nord's chin up with his finger, "If I didn't, I wouldn't have to come here."

Farkas frowned at him. It was a tactic of emotional manipulation. He stepped back, saying with a new-found confidence, "You're not the man I knew."

Drusus smirked again, slowly blinking. He looked away in defeat as Nord saw right through it. Let the man believe whatever. It was a reason good enough not to stay at Jorrvaskr. It wasn't his home anymore. He agreed with Farkas' observation though. He was not the same. And they left it at that.

V

Vilkas and Drusus took a stroll through Whiterun's beautiful, immaculate landscaping and garden. It was during busiest hour as everyone seemed to be out of their houses. It was so upbeat, so alive Drusus wondered where in the oblivion they came from. He hated being around people, preferring to be out there killing something but being with his companion, just catching up made it bearable.

Because he no longer could walk outside in broad daylight without his hood, he got quite a few heads turned on him. They knew who he was but nevertheless, his strange, intimidating armor never ceased to make the townspeople feel uncomfortable and guards nervous. The daedric one-handed swords were sheathed securely on his back. Yes, he was far more suspicious than the Redguards at the gates.

As the morals walked through the bustling crowd, Vilkas was babbling about Aela or something. Drusus wasn't sure which topic he was on. He half-heartedly listened to him. Compared to his twin brother, he was awfully talkative.

"...so it was completely understandable why Aela was so pissed. I mean- I can see why you chose to be a vampire than- OW!"

Drusus jabbed him in his ribcage. Although wearing his usual armor, Drusis managed to hit him hard, especially with his ebony gauntlets.

"We're in public, s'wit," Drusus whispered harshly, placing his comment on that word he just said, "Do you tell them you were a werewolf?"

"Sorry. You're right," Vilkas groaaned, rubbing his armor where it hurt, "By Ysmar's beard, you have become much stronger."

Drusus sighed and shook his head at his stupidity. Vilkas must have forgotten that he was no longer a lycanthropic, thus not feeling restricted to exposing secrets or burdens. Though, the dark elf wondered if Vilkas still had blood thirst. Currently, he wasn't wearing a mask. He saw delicious-looking meat that was hooked up in the foods section of the market and licked his lips, his hunger growing. There were plenty of blood-soaked fresh meat around and he could understand how The Circle was able to curb its members' hunger, keeping theirs in check. Drusus was going to feed off of Farkas but after last night, he knew his now former Nordic lover would say no. His seduction didn't even work.

"So any news on dragons?" Drusus asked, with hope.

"No, it's like they're playing hide and seek. Those bastards. I'll keep my eyes and ears open, though. Just come here often."

Drusus was sorely disappointed. Then a loud, annoying voice shouted in his ears, "BOOK SALE! CHEAP BOOKS! GET YOUR COPY OF THE BETRAYED! WE HAVE RARE BOOKS HERE! CHEAP!"

It was clear it was a traveling bookseller. The wagon filled with books was inconveniently placed partially over the path, blocking the way. Angry, Drusus turned his head to see the bookseller waving his books violently. When the Argonian saw that he had his attention, he waved the book in his face. "ONLY 30 SEPTIMS!"

Drusus snatched the book out of his hand and snarled, "You're a rip-off. In this condition, it's not even worth 20 Septims, n'wah. And I have a copy myself. "

The poor Argonian was then frightened by Drusus' darkened face and look. He flicked out his tongue nervously, "O-okay, you can have it. Free."

"Take it easy, friend. I'll pay."

"Don't bother," Drusus said, disgusted with the bookseller's crookedness. He pushed the book back against his scaly chest and walked away. But Vilkas, being a good-natured man, paid for the book and took it. He opened to the first page as he followed Drusus to see a introductory short poem about the Falmers. But he understood naught of it.

"It looks interesting. Did you read it?"

"Nah," he replied, slightly disturbed at his founded interest. He never found Vilkas to be the type who reads books. Both men went into The Drunken Huntsman since the Bannered Mare was too crowded. Once inside, the whole place reeked of ales and meads coming from slug-breaths. It was much more to their type. No annoying bards or loud clamoring. It was that mellow.

They both sat down at the bar where a Bosmer, Elrindir, was wiping down the bar countertop. When he saw who sat, he smiled and said, "Hello, my Nordic friend." then shot a dirty look at the Dunmer, "Something you need, you miserable wretch?"

"Black-Briar, please."

"What did you do?" Vilkas asked, wondering what he could have done.

"Nothing."

"Just a Nord mead," Vilkas said and placed the book on the counter. Drusus couldn't help but stared at them distastefully. Vilkas... and that book.

"Do you know much about it?"

"It's about the Falmers, hence the title."

"Falmers. What's that?"

Drusus almost fell off the bar stool. What? He never heard of the Falmers? He shot him a 'Are-you-kidding-me' look. He shook his head violently, wishing he didn't hear that. He had encountered plenty of Falmers- these atrocious-looking creatures that lived in the dark. He remembered his first time being underground with them, before he could see in the dark. It was menacing. You just never know where they come from. They could be waiting or sleeping in one of these dark corners. But after killing a few of them, he realized that they were blind upon investigating their corpses. And it explained how clumsy their attacks were.. One of them even crawled by him as if he was not there. They made gurgling sounds and grunts as they roamed their 'home.' But their ghoulish screeches every time they acknowledged his presence were by no means welcoming. Even sometimes they killed their own kind by accident.

Despite creepy atmosphere and terrifying looking species, they were incredibly dumb and easy to manipulate- so dumb you quickly feel sorry for them. However one could easily let his own guard down and be totally decimated by their own inventions of weapons, which turned out were made with some sophisticated intelligence. Rule of thumb- don't over or underestimate your enemies- never let your guard down. Even an innocent-looking child can kill an adult. Legends had it a child killed the Prince of Snow Elves, which served as final chapter of their entire race. It was not always a matter of physical strength or intelligence. Every enemy has its own weakness and strength afterall.

"You never heard of Falmers?" Drusus asked astonishingly and was replied with a shaking head, "Snow Elves?"

"Snow elves? Maybe... didn't they go extinct ancient ago?"

"They say they did. They all disappeared shortly after the Dwemers, especially after the wars with the Nords. You should know this."

"Ah, ah, well," Vilkas was looking for a defense, "I don't have the time to read...And nobody talks about no snow elves."

That was true. Drusus heard most about Falmers in the far West, especially in Markarth, where there were many Dwemers die-hard fans and researchers. It was impossible for them not to include the Falmers as well as they played a huge role in their demise, whatever it was. And he could not ignore the presence of Silver-Hand clan there either because his companions were... well lycanthropic so they could not be near their greater enemies.

"You seem to know a lot about them," Vilkas said, suddenly curious, "Tell me more."

"I've seen them. The Falmers, I mean. They are what remained of the snow elves. Twisted and betrayed by Dwemers into slavery. Now, they look nothing like their ancestors- only twisted, monstrous... just read it."

"Ahum... Well, I..." Vilkas started. He looked at the book, contemplating what to tell him. He then wished Drusus had read it. But nope, nope. Drusus didn't have the time to read rubbish books, especially when there were so much to do. Finally, Elrindir showed up with their drinks.

"What took you so damn long?" Drusus accused.

"I had to go to the stockroom to find the one you want. I didn't think we had any left. Well you're in luck- last one. We don't normally serve garbage from Riften, the shithole you love so much."

"Fletcher," Drusus muttered, giving him generous amount of septims.

"Ah, I read that book," Elrindir commented, pointing at the book, "The snow elves. Sad but true. They were once a prosperous race, proud and-"

"I don't remember asking for a lecture," the dark elf interrupted with drop-dead sarcasm.

"Ignore him," Vilkas chimed in, "Tell me more."

"Ugh, just read it when you get back," Drusus was increasingly annoyed by his strange new interest. They didn't go to this tavern to discuss a stupid book or snow elves.

"Drusus, I can't read," Vilkas finally said. There. He said it. How embarrassing.

A few moment of silence.

"A nord can't read," Drusus stated mostly to himself, rubbing his forehead. Now he was sporting a headache. There was much more to learn about this fella, then. He thought he knew his companion. Apparently, he was just as dumb as his brother. Sighing, he took a big one from his drink.

"Well, I can't say much 'cuz I don't know much but I have hunters coming in here, swearing they have seen them when they were out there," Elrindir said, "The rumors spread and off they went to hunt them down. Of course, they have never seen them."

"Why hunt them down?" Vilkas wondered.

Elrindir just shrugged. "If anything's rare, legendary, or extraordinary- Worth a lot of gold."

Vilkas shook his head and took the book in his hand, "Some people would do _anything_ to get gold."

"Yes, yes. In that book, they said they were highly enlightened, highly intelligent race. Well-loved by the gods and goddesses, possibly even most dangerous, considering how advanced they were, even at some point more advanced than the Dwemers. I'd say they got it coming."

"Dwemers- I know a few good stories!" Vilkas chirped.

Drusus just wanted to kill himself there then. Irritated, after another sip, he slammed his mead on the wooden countertop. He grabbed the book out of Vilkas' hands and swiftly threw it sideways towards the windows across the tavern, spinning some drunkards' heads on the way; the book went through, shattering the opaque glass and it was gone! Drusus went back to drinking, ignoring the sudden silence that flash-flooded the room and shocked faces turned on his back.

* * *

 **Writer's Note:** Next chapter will feature sparkly snow elves! PS. Please review, help me if there's an error with its lore. Obviously, there are some parts I will make up, especially with the snow elves. The greatest mystery!


	2. Chapter 2: The Hidden City

Chapter II: The Hidden City

I

Soft blue sun behind the wintry mountains, it shines so proudly

In the valley of valleys presents fine but cold, gray architecture

Made of almost entirely sharply-cut stone blocks and modern forms of crystalline powders

Dwells there the endangered race of mer.

Known as snow elves.

Like always, they have hailed in everything they had achieved before their demise.

Their gods and goddesses had pity on them and took them as their refugees.

But the bitter cold came whispering

Threatening to cover them with unforgiving, icy mist

Hailstorms coming and everyone is sleeping.

'Wake up!'

He tried to shake them in their beds but no response. He ran around the palace, into halls and rooms, looking for a living soul. He tried to scream for everyone to hear but again, no response. It was as if he became a ghost himself.

He saw someone walking at an intersection of the great halls and stopped. He ran towards what appeared to be one of the servants. However, she was frozen in the midst of walking. It was as if time stopped or paused, making them appear to be in a state of stasis. What is happening? Panic started to take grip of his mind as he tried to backtrack where it all began. He couldn't remember.

Just then, a mist came spiraling before him. A ghostly-like substance took form. A wispmother appeared.

'My beloved prince.' A soft, wise voice was heard. Prince? 'The divines have spoken.'

Then all the sudden, he was bombarded with overwhelming visions that he could not understand. He gasped as he felt alienating sensations running through his mind. His eyes rolled to the back of his skull as he felt sharp pain going through like needles. Then in the darkness, he saw visions flashing before his blinded eyes. These flashes were splots of colors, strange forms, and shapes of living things at microscopic level. His brain was firing impulses. Like electricity in his brain was jolting and jumping all over, trying to make a connection but nothing coherent came to picture.

"Get up!" Someone screamed and shook him. His body shook violently by the unseen force.

Then he woke up, opening his eyes totally paralyzed with fear.

"Oh thank you, my blue divine," someone cried out, sounding relieved. "I thought I couldn't wake you."

Then he realized he had been dreaming. Blinking hard, he made sure he could breathe and swallow. He looked at one of female servants, "Emelyn, You scared me to death."

"Nynrin, the prince..."

"W-what?" He sat up quickly from his bed, gripping the servant's arms. Her face was stricken with saddness. "What's wrong with him?"

Emelyn fell silent. Silence spoke for itself.

"Oh no..." he said, immensely saddened with the news. Even more that he had missed it. The prince was sick for a while before he was bed-ridden. So it was time.

"We've tried everything, m'lord."

"I know," Nynrin whispered painfully. His eyes were on verge of tears but he stood up, determined to pay his respects right away. "Let me dress."

When the servant left, Nynrin was left with even more questions. Confusion had contaminated the great halls of the Chantry as to why the prince was sick. He was so sick that even the best mages and alchemists could not better his conditions. Was his majesty that so displeasing to their gods?

Nynrin dressed himself in his paladin armor made of crystal. And he headed to the grand bedroom where the prince had been staying. The general knight-paladin, Tveidor looked at Nynrin when he entered silently. There were a lot of others like him and high priests gathered around the bed, mourning. And female servants were weeping. It was a quiet moment when no one spoke a word but the general approached Nynrin and whispered a few things softly in his ear.

After saying a few prayers, Nynrin and Tveidor went to attend the urgent meeting in councilors' room. Unlike other rooms, this room wasn't enclosed with all glass windows. In private, they arranged the funeral and wake rites for the public. And then, the cremation of his body, just like the rest of the royal families. Upon exiting into the hallway with uncertainty, natural light came through, reflecting off checkered tiles. Tveidor, with his fierce white eyes and long white hair, turned to Nynrin in solemnity.

"Not only his illness was strange," Tveidor spoke, "But the circumstances that came before. It was almost if... even the sun was strange."

"Do you think Auri-El was displeased with him?"

"Nynrin, we have no one left. He was the last of the bloodline. How do we going to anoint the next one in their place?"

"With all due respect, sir is it not wise to ask me?"

"Well, it was more of a rhetoric question, more or less. But yes, you are but a child," he said, smiling sadly, "Was hoping you had some insight."

Their age difference was great but being a race known for incredible life expectancy, races like the Nords could not tell their ages apart. But Tveidor was certainly starting to show some age. The lines when he smiled became much more pronounced. And the lines on his forehead whenever he lifted his high-arched eyebrows. And his long, thin white hair depicted his wisdom. "But, the former Queen did consider you her own son."

Nynrin lowered his head, saying nothing. Although he was somewhat 'adopted' by her, he was still raised and treated like a knight of the palace. Besides the age and the wisdom that came with it, Nynrin was no different from Tveidor.

"But, what about your brother? What does he think?"

Tveidor sighed and shook his head, continuing his walk to go with his faction of men. Knowing his twin brother, he wouldn't give any opinions without being asked and it would be pointless to do so. He was only an arch-mage and a head professor of school of magic, nothing more. "Even Emelyn thinks you deserve the throne but I know she is too fond of you. It is going to take a while, then."

"A while?"

"To decide of course... for diplomacy's sake."

Nynrin stood there to watch him depart for a while. He saw Emelyn rushing to him and while waiting for her, he looked out the ceiling-high windows that oversaw the somewhat small city. The city itself was mostly white, due to crystalline powders. Crystals were a major resource of the modern snow elves. Because these crystals could draw upon various energies and the energy fields of the world and parallel universes, such as electro-magnetic fields, gravitation, sunlight, and so on, depending on the physic laws of each world, realm, or universe. There would be different types of crystals for different purposes. And within the city, there were various crystals throughout that were specialized for specific uses.

It was not magic at all. It was all science. All they had to do was to understand the molecular structures of crystals, redesign the latticework to focus a particular energy, and then reset the energy field so it would stay that way. As long as these rocks live, the energy was indefinite. The crystals were everywhere.

Before in ancient times, snow elves were renowned for large number of mages and mastering multiple arcane arts, thanks to the high elves but now the modern snow elves are into science, but without too much sophisticated technology like the Dwemers.

"Nyn, m'lord."

Emelyn finally came to Nynrin's side. Her beautiful, thick side fringe covered one of her big, blue eyes. She took a few seconds to catch her breath before asking, "So, what are you going to do next."

"We." Nynrin said, turning to face her. His emerald eyes met hers. "We don't know, yet. I suspect we will have to elect."

"B-but what about you?"

Nynrin smiled, "What makes you think I'm fit for that such position? I haven't finished my studies."

Emelyn looked down shyly. He knew her too well.

"You don't have to be so formal with me. Speak your mind."

"Well... I was going to say... why are you studying then? What is the purpose?"

Nynrin looked at her sadly, "So we don't lose or forget knowledge again..."

Emelyn made a rather unpleasant face, which caused Nynrin to chuckle lightly.

Recordkeeping and knowledge from the books and from enlightened minds served as one of the top priorities within this society. Even the prince was not enlightened. Only prelate priests could hold sacred knowledge. Emelyn couldn't bear the thought of Nynrin becoming one of these prelate priests, whom most vowed to stay chaste. The reason for chastity was to have a perfectly clear, crystal-like mind, and nothing was perverted.

"I don't understand, Nyn... Why be obsessed with the past when we're trying anew?"

The green-eyed went back to the windows, gazing at the spires of crystals dominating white buildings. "Take a look at the city," he said softly, "None of this would happen without the knowledge."

II

In this crystal city, it was never dark. And there were very little light fixtures because they were not often needed. Most of the aspects in their architecture and in its construction, there was the powder of a crystalline nature, as if the building itself were made of crystalline nature. It was like chameleon effect, that color based on changed in viewing angle- all in range white to metallic silver. So if a people walk by, the particles shine and the effect was so bright that it practically acted as light.

The light itself was done with crystal energy, such that the crystals for lighting would give off a light energy. For fixtures, they give a bright somewhat blue-tinted light.

The blue sun seemed to have lost some of its luminosity but still it was a very, bright day. The other day was gray and lifeless. Although, they did not have nights there, it was the brightest day in a long while. Almost as if the gods were in delightful mood totally unaffected by the melancholy that took place on the off-white dirt. The greens were sprayed with snow-covered dew.

Music began. All the snow elves gathered at the sides of the marbleized road. All the way from the palace to the resting place. Respects were paid by either bowing or praying. They all dressed beautifully. Even the poorest ones had to borrow and wear one of the clothing suitable for such case.

Funeral and wake rites happen at the same time as the knights, who were wearing their armors as if they're going to war, carried the prince's body, which was temporarily covered with glass. Soft melodic sounds of flute followed the new Prelate priests, who then followed the units.

Nynrin was told not to wear the knight armor. Instead, he was told to wear a long black robe, tailored with white trims, along with extricate details. Long-sleeved and high collared with buttons all the way down. It was made of rather-heavy fabric that gave him a broader shoulders, and contoured that its fabric spread, starting from his hips. Outlanders would mistaken him for a priest as the priests wore something similar. This garment they called the enlightened robe, was meant to be worn by royal sons and daughters, who were supposed to be in the most mourning.

When Nynrin finally came out, following the ceremony, he kept his head down.

"N-no way, they're not seriously..." someone whispered from the spectacle.

"Sir Nyrnith, the next?" someone else was equally shocked by that revelation. But they made no such announcement!

"He's not even enlightened," a female cried out, noticing that the sun-kissed blond was not wearing the forehead circlet or amulet that only the royalites could wear- to state their status.

"Shh!"

Fortunately, their voices were drowned with music. Nynrin was very beautiful, very gentle yet proved to be competent as a mage and an archer- even brutal. He was more proficient in battle than the former prince/king. But too young, too naive. He still had a lot more to learn in his studies. Not good enough to take up any kind of leadership.

As they marched down the path, the spectacle then followed them, merging into one big faction. There were several banners of their own, in addition to the old ones before the great war against the Nords and the ancient.

General Tveidor was wearing an Ancient Falmer armor. His twin brother, Tveitan, was wearing a darker, variant version that came later from that era. Somewhat a reminiscent display of victory and loss, the good and the bad, and the time of light and the time of darkness.

It was a short while before Nynrin caught a sight of Emelyn walking quickly behind the spectacle, completely ignoring the ceremony. It was odd behavior, especially for a loyal servant. He kept his eyes on her, struggling not to lose sight of her between faces. Everyone had bright, white, yellow, and ash hair. Finally, he saw her slipping into the Chantry they just begun to pass.

 _What in the blue divine...?_ He thought, frowning to that suspicious behavior. He looked over to the priests to see if anyone saw her but they were looking down, citing rituals. Tveidor and Tveitan were too far ahead. Nynrin shook his head- something was bothering him. Slowly, he moved toward the side, and slipped out.

"Where are you going, m'lord?" One of them asked, trying to grab him but Nynrin pushed his hand away, silently telling him to stay. A few heads turned but reluctantly ignored, pretending they didn't see him.

Nynrin opened the front door just enough to slip inside without drawing too much attention and he was in the great hall. He knew it was completely empty, thus when he closed the door, it was so heavy that it muted the sounds of the ceremony almost entirely and he was greeted with total, eerie silence.

"Emelyn, what are you doing in here?" he asked into the emptiness but no response. He looked toward the center, where natural light from the dome shone brightly. He approached the circle pool with the statue of Auri-El, standing tall in the center. The ripples of water was reflected onto the stone wall everywhere. His eyes scanned around where there were pillars. "Emelyn!"

Silence.

Uncomfortable tension became the air, and Nynrin used his knowledge to draw magic, lifting his arm and curling his fist so a ball of detect life.

He went further down the hall and found her in her usual servant clothes- not dressed up for the ceremony at all. Just standing here with her back to him made him on his edge. Although he couldn't see her face, Emelyn acted as if she was not aware of his presence. As he was becoming dreadfully uncomfortable, he whispered, "Emelyn?"

Slowly, she turned and made eye contact with him. But they weren't her eyes. Golden orbs stared back to him instead of her blue ones. Emelyn looked like herself besides her eyes. Possessed?

"My prince," she said in a monotonous voice. It was her voice but none the usual one. "Time has come." Prince? Why did she say that?

"You were in my dream," Nynrin said, baffled as to who it might be speaking through her. "Who are you?"

"The Guardians are dead."

"The G-guardians from the wayshrines?" Panic started to stir within in him. The only guardians she was talking about could not be other than the guardians of the portals.

"Yes, they wanted the knowledge but the guardians refused to share, so they killed them."

"What's happening? Who's they?"

"The Dragonborn from the far past is now freed from imprisonment from Apocrypha. Under the submission of Hermaeus Mora... who seeks all knowledge. He wants your knowledge. And Miraak wants his revenge... His army is coming. To destroy you. All of you."

"Why?" So many questions. "How do I stop him?"

"You?" she smiled sadly, "You're not strong enough, let alone fight him. You will need someone who matches him..."

"A dragonborn," Nynrin concluded weakly.

"The name is Drusus Dredhendis. You will find him in Riften. Go to Solstheim with him."

"Y-you mean... I have to leave here? T-to Skyrim?" said Nynrin, absolutely shocked. He wasn't sure if it was something so easily approved by the councilors. First of all, how could they believe him, or let alone let him? "But the people...if they see me-"

This 'Emelyn' walked closer to him and lifted her hand. Although the atmosphere was nerve-wracking, he had no reason to think she was a threat. In fact, he did not sense anything malicious about this 'being.' He hesitatingly took her hand and the visions returned. This time they were much clearer.

Flash into a unfamiliar place- era? Stones everywhere constructed in fortress-style and a watchtower is in front of him. A black dragon lands on top of it. Then people starts to scream as the dragon opens its mouth and blows something that causes his vision to go blurry. So blurry that he can't see what's moving back or forth. The sensation of shaking make him feel sick to his stomach.

 _You can't even speak the dragon language._

Then he sees through the eyes of a person who is running through the forests. Then a few come screaming toward him with swords in the air. Blood. Blood everywhere. Blood on hand. Blood on face. And armor.

Some inky substance takes over, acting an hindrance to his vision. Then like black clouds finally clearing up, he sees something emerging. A dead dragon, slaughtered by a dovahkiin's hands.

As he realizes his destiny, strange powers comes forth surging with such rush that it straightens his whole body, stretching his arms and back. His spines crack as he absorbs something that is so incredibly too powerful for a mortal body. His blood runs cold instantly as he feels it right under his skin. There is an indescribable pain... or pleasure that soars through his solar plexus. He shouts to the sky with all of his might, aura and magic coming out of his mouth. The sound is deafening.

Then he continues to plunder every soul that stumbles upon his path in the wilderness, absorbing everything, making him even more powerful.

His hate grows. His hunger grows. And he is blind!

Nynrin gasped as his visions cleared from a temporary darkness. So it was what he saw in his dreams. He found himself still standing up and holding Emelyn's hand- he thought he'd lose consciousness.

"That was..."

"Yes," she said, confirming who it was. Then her eyes became teary, "But... be careful. Boethiah has an influence on him. Because he had attained his ebony mail armor and it made him very powerful..."

According to legends of dragonborns, there was not one that was free from the submission of a daedric prince. In fact, even if they were without any influence, they would not live long. Once a dragonborn, it becomes difficult to resist temptations. They all seemed to fall as victims of insatiable power and corruption.

"Go before Miraak take the Betrayed too."

Nynrin was sick to his stomach from the thoughts of facing their former past. Falmers against snow elves? 'Emelyn' then turned around to walk towards the altar again.

"W-wait, at least tell me.. who you are."

"Sister... of Auri-el. I am Cyra-el."

She left a loud painful-sounding gasp. Something misty came out of her mouth. Nynrin rushed to catch her from falling to the ground. Then soon, Emelyn was sobbing in his arms. As if she heard everything. He embraced her, soothing her. "Emelyn! It's okay. I'm here."

III

Tveidor had noticed they weren't at the resting place. And worried, they left when the cremation was taking place and found Nynrin and Emelyn at the center of the town, now deserted. They had agreed to talk right after the ceremony. From the looks on their faces, Tveidor knew something was seriously wrong.

After explaining what happened at the Chantry, Tveidor looked as if he couldn't believe them. A goddess they never seen before or even heard of suddenly appeared to him? And that was just after their prince died? Despite all the strange circumstances, he couldn't even comprehend the possibility of an invasion.

"Why would I make this up?" Nynrin said, noticing Tveidor's face expression. He threw his palm at Emelyn who was still clearly upset. Her blue eyes were filled with so much sadness. Her white bangs covered her face as if she was ashamed. She was young, beautiful, and unmarried. Never before she felt so violated. "She saw everything too."

"Alright," Tveidor sighed and looked over to his legates, "Send some over to wayshrines. See if you find anything."

"I would like to go and see for myself," Tveitan added to the conversation, very serious about it. It seemed he believed the two witnesses whole-heartedly.

"And I have to go over."

"No, no." Tveidor shook his head violently at that idea. Nynrin was in the middle of intense studies and he was far from ready. "You're staying here."

"So you prefer to wait until they finally figure out how to use the wayshrine, wait until they come through and we attack them? Do you know how many men he has?" Nynrin said angrily. They weren't really questions. "Now that's sheer insanity!"

Tveidor sighed nervously, rubbing his forehead. His units finally brought the horses to them. He looked over at his twin brother who was an arch-mage. He nodded, "Let's go and see."

Immediately, the small faction came onto their horses and headed into the mountains out of the valley. It wouldn't take the whole day to reach the wayshrine. On the way there, they spotting wandering horses with saddles still on them. Not good sign.

Few soldiers took them along. When they reached there, there was one of them lying face down in the thin layer of snow. He looked like he had been dead for quite a while. Judging with his experience with rigor mortis, Tveitan made an educated guess that he was dead for a few days.

"They made it through?" Tveidor wondered as Tveitan was done inspecting the body.

"No," Nynrin said. No one else was in sight. Where were the other two? He got off the horse to inspect the body. Blood trail was between the wayshrines and the body. "There is blood coming from the wayshrine's window. He was attacked outside then crawled in here, barely alive. I don't think anyone else came through."

"He's right," Tveitan said, looking around at the snow looking for any foreign footprints in the snow. He looked at their camp- everything seemed to be intact. "And I don't see anything else out of ordinary. The goods are still here."

Tveitan got down from his horse and stepped in front of three windows of the portal, lifting his crystal staff. Atop of it was bright, solid blue gem.

"What are you doing?" Tveidor said nervously. With every second, he was growing anxious. The atmosphere became suddenly so tense, so anticipating. They never knew what to expect. But unlike his warrior brother, Tveitan seemed totally unaffected and calm- the most collected of all snow elves, it seemed.

"I am going to open the window to see the other side... not the door..."

"W-would they see us?"

"No... they won't see us at all. The wayshrines should not be visible the other side- you know that. Trust me, brother. I know what I'm doing."

"Auri-el save us," muttered one of the soldiers. Everyone held their breath in.

But they unconsciously knew it was necessary. If the other two were killed on the outside, then there was a chance that anyone could come across them and people of Skyrim might declare the Snow Elves are still alive and well. They cannot allow the marvel happen! Otherwise, they would be hunted down.

But Tveitan opened the screen before the party, and there were nothing but snow-covered terrain and pine trees, indicating no sign of life. There was nothing out of ordinary. Even if there were blood, it was either covered by snow or dried up from the bitterness of winter.

"I don't see anything," said Nynrin. Thanks, Captian Obvious. Tveidor sighed, clearly frustrated with lack of clues and more questions.

"Shut it!" he ordered his brother, anxious the window would 'be seen', even though it'd be impossible. The arch-mage dropped his hand from where he was displaying and the window screen vanished. "I don't mean that. I mean close it."

"W-what do you mean?" Nynrin turned to face Tveidor but he refused eye contact. Almost as if he was embarrassed with the lack of understanding.

"Destroy it. We can't risk anyone to come in here."

Both Tveitan and Nynrin wildly and simultaneously voiced their protest.

"You can't do that-"

"Have you gone mad!"

Then there was a commotion among the soldiers, muttering at this ludicrous idea. Tveidor angrily waved his hand around to signal them to shut up. Suddenly, he felt the urge to defend himself. "You know we're the only ones left, right? We cannot risk ANY mortal come in here and find out the truth. If we're found, we're gone. We're done! FOREVER!"

"You're wrong," his twin brother said. Their difference was so strikingly huge that anyone'd question if they were really twins or not. Tveitan speculated that there were other wayshrines and proposed the fact that other snow elves are currently residing somewhere else as well but he had no evidence. A very few surviving books served nothing about the future of the snow elves; however he had been seeing visions of others. Some through his prophecies and magic. Some townspeople think he was crazy to even mention that possibility.

"General..." Nynrin said slowly, "Do you realize that if we destroy them, there is no way that we can get in or out of this place, right?"

"So what? What do we need that requires traveling to Skyrim?" Tveidor said, not stepping down at all. Firm and stubborn as always. "We have everything here. If anything, they pose greatest threat than anything else."

"That we know of," Nynrin finished. At that point, Nynrin made a resolution with himself. No more living in constant fear. "We haven't stepped very far out here. How do we know if this place isn't the only place?"

"What reasons we'd have for traveling through these mountains? Again, we have all the resources here- we have all the knowledge to survive. What more we do we need?"

"Just because we have everything in one place isn't a valid reason, especially when it comes to sealing our only way out. It makes no sense."

"Sir," a soldier interrupted. "He's right. What if there are others? And if they come and attack us? If we're not prepared or experienced, then simply we are no safer here than the other side of the shrine!"

Other soldier chimed in, "That's right! We're not experienced. You never lead us into battles."

"What's the point of it, then," another soldier murmured at last, wondering why they even have an army.

Tveidor pointed at the wayshrines, exasperatedly. "You have forgotten?" Then he became furious, so furious his white, pale skin was showing red colors. Tveidor and his unit may not have any experience in battles but the General had seen enough to know what greed and corruption does to an elf- or man even. Take the royalites for instance. He believed the only reason to venture into another world is to indulge in their desires and that desire alone will only lead to darkness. Somewhat in his sense, desire was an equivalent of curiosity, which could cost the whole race dearly. He cried, "You have forgotten! Soldiers! You have forgotten the purpose!"

"Calm down, brother."

"Ok how about this? You think you're in the heavens, huh? That we'd live forever in peace? That some blue divine will spend her eternity protecting us?" Nynrin spat. He was mocking Tveidor's tendency to easily dismiss divinity, showing a side to him no soldier saw before, even the twins. Tveidor was shocked at this act of blasphemy, coming from a prelate priest trainee!

"May Auri-El forgive me," Nynrin muttered after a pause that made him realize what he just said.

"May Auri-El forgive you," Tveitan muttered back.

There was silence for a moment. There was a realization that struck Tveidor's face as he was examining the surrounding of elves. He was the only one. Tveitan and Nynrin, without saying anything got back onto their horses and started to head back, knowing that Tveidor alone could not simply destroy the wayshrines. Destroying them would prove difficult, even for an experienced arch-mage.

IV

The councilors at the glass table were silent. It was clear they were not prepared for such news. They had already asked questions and more questions- questions Nynrin became feeling so hopeless because he could not answer them, leaving them even more baffled. There was simply not enough information given to him at this time. Nynrin began to wonder if it'd be better if he had not said anything and cross over himself. But that'd be too foolish, considering his level.

"We don't know enough. All we know is that Nynrin was given a warning that a... presumably, a mortal by the name of Miraak, who plans to breach the wayshrines and invade our city in his own madness, and our knowledge will be robbed by a daedra price. If they succeed, we no longer have any place to stay- to be safe. This is a very grave matter..." said the head councilor who was the eldest- the oldest of all snow elves. His age was dignified by a long beard to his chest. His face looked 50 mortal-year-old.

"No longer protected by the divine, who supposedly took us as refugees." Tveidor muttered disgustedly. They were taught that they were blessed but he believed they simply forgot how they did it as generations went by. After all, after they flee, they lost most of the knowledge from the ancient times.

"Blessed Tveitan, by the Crystals, what do you propose we do?"

The arch-mage stood up with hands inside the sleeves. He sighed, "I believe what our divines are trying to say... I have known all my life and I have seen at first hand, that Sir young paladin, of the Young Ones, Nynrin Nyrnith was special since he was a child. He had numerous of visions but they were never clear." Tveitan stopped for a moment to look into the intense green eyes that belonged to Nynrin. "He had shown me the greatest potential. I'm not proposing that he is the next anointed, but rather, a revelation of our race."

"Please stop with this nonsense, brother," Tveidor groaned in embarrassment but the councilors seemed to be perfectly fine with his speech.

"Just say it. That this child is going to save our entire race from this great invasion? A hero in the making?" asked one of the Elders.

"The way we live is not working. We have turned to wrong path. All of our royals died with a strange plague which only happened within this palace. No one else had this ailment... So it is clear that the divines are not happy with our sovereign."

Another female councilor who worked in medical sciences for decades, which would be alchemy, chimed in. "That's right. Our medical examiners and staff had been investigating their bodies to find what was the cause of their death but we could not find anything. In fact, before they collapsed, they were mentally and physically fit- in perfect sound condition, meaning no symptoms at all."

"And from my experience, my staff and students alike- despite our accumulation of knowledge equivalent to hundreds of years, we could not come to a conclusion- we could not even identify or verify whether this mysterious illness was magic- based or chemical."

"In other words, we found... nothing." the head councilor concluded sadly. His stiff white beard was shaking every word he said, "As if...they just died of natural causes."

"Are we really that cursed! Might as well call us the Cursed, as opposed to the Betrayed." Tveidor grunted angrily, slamming both of his hands on the table. Tvietan ignored his twin brother and continued.

"It's clear that our Crystal goddess, our Savior, and our Divine of compassion and empathy is not happy with how we govern ourselves. And if she appeared before Nynrin, who was in his clear conscious, to assign him the prophecy, then he is the chosen one. He is the only one who can save us. Let him cross and find this dragonborn."

"No! No! No! Absolutely not!"

V

In the distance, pale ice wraiths in an arctic swarm were screeching against the rising temperatures. Although they were still by the northern dim, it was becoming unusually too warm for their liking- too fast. Sooner or later, they would be dissipated among the melting snowbanks. The drips of icy water was a sign of end of First Seed. Spring was coming.

With slender fingers, Nynrin readjusted his hood to make sure it won't fall off. The hood of white robe was fastened together at his neck. Then he patted on the neck of his white horse which he called Enri. She let out a soft neigh in response.

"Just a few more," he whispered before looking around to find a road. He tried to avoid using the roads but taking more direct paths through the woods took longer than he expected, despite rapidly-melting snow and muddy soil. But thankfully it won't be long before he reach Riften to catch the dark elf.

Thanks to the hunters who had spotted him. Despite their gawking at his strange, suspicious form, wearing nothing but white and a white horse, Nynrin pushed aside his vast knowledge of Skyrim's terrains and gave into his humbleness to ask for directions.

"Where from do you hail? Summerset?" they had asked before they parted ways. Nynrin smiled at being mistaken as an Altmer but he extended his gratefulness, turned and left, leaving a Nord and a Breton baffled.

When he reached Riften and placed the horse at the stable, he dropped a generous amount of gold in the stableman's hand.

"H-hey, that's too much..." he muttered, surprised but Nynrin ignored him.

As soon as he entered the gates, there was an overwhelming smell of... stickiness. Smell of a fishery plus rotting wood prickled Nynrin's nose. This town seemed so depressing. There was no impressive architecture or art as everything was made of nothing but wood and planks. Planks and more planks. It became obvious it was a haven of mercenary. Although not many people, all the faces turned on Nynrin's arrival, making him feel very small.

Of course, they couldn't possibly be unused to visitors? Townspeople stopped what they were doing and gawked at him as he approached the marketsplace. Even the guards. Then there were soft murmurs about his strange presence.

It became incredibly warm at the center of town. Ah... blacksmith was just next to the marketsplace. A big bulky man with long dirty blond hair and heavy, thick goatee was hammering away a hot scorching sword.

"Excuse me, sir."

The man grunted as he understood why the townspeople went quiet but nevertheless unfazed by the immediate presence near him. He took the sword into the forge. "What do you want, high elf?"

"I need to find the Dragonborn. Do you happen to know where he is?" he asked, still feeling the eyes of others fixed hotly on him. He had his hand ready on his gold pouch. Just in case an... encouragement would be needed to elicit some information.

"Now, why'd you wanna know?" he said, now his back turned to find his other tool. Nynrin then realized his presence wasn't exactly welcomed. Despite not being an Altmer, it became clear that they weren't uh... fans of this race. They seemed distrusting of such elves but he could see a few Bosmers around. Of course, high elves were not very much scattered across Skyrim and they were rarely seen. It was understandable, though as the Altmer race was known to be very highly strung and authoritative.

Time for gold to speak for itself. Nynrin took the small satchel out and poured coins onto the blacksmithing anvil. The clinking of many coins fell upon it and to the ground.

The Nord took notice and chuckled, amused by such maneuver. He, then folded his arms. "Ok, don't make such a scene here, elf. You're embarrassing yourself. Now, the dragonborn you speak of- he is family. So unless you give me a good reason, and if you think Riften's is afflicted with money-craving madsmen who'd betray our own friends for meager amount of gold, you're sadly mistaken."

Nynrin looked at the scattered coins, confused. Meager amount? He was sure he had poured at least 200 Septims. They were called Septims, right? Believe it or not, these Septims were extremely common 'artifacts' that were left at a museum back home.

"I know Dragonborn is sick," he said, sighing.

"Sick, eh?"

"Am I right, or am I not?" Nynrin said softly. He knew the dark elf must have been acting strange lately. And if they were 'family'... surely, they must have noticed something was off. "I'm trying to find him and help him."

"Why, eh," he said, frowning. Stubborn Nord, Nynrin noted, and extremely distrusting too.

"Did you see the armor piece he was wearing?" Nynrin asked.

"Yes... it was made of ebony of some kind. I have never seen such a..." the blacksmith then fell silent for a moment. His weary eyes wandered away in thoughts and amazement, "beautiful a-and fantastic armor! I've never seen anything like it."

"Well, that armor belongs to a daedric prince," Nynrin explained.

"Someday, someday," he lifted his finger up, still recalling what the Dragonborn was wearing, "I'll make- wait, wait what did you say? I swore I heard you say-"

"You heard right. A Dragonborn made a pact with a daedric prince. And he is in bind with that demon by wearing that armor and I need to break him free from it. But if you want me to help him and put him on the right path, I need you to tell me where he is."

The man sighed heavily. He couldn't deny what he had been feeling. "I don't even know. He was acting strangely, I'll give you that but eh, he just left without saying anything. He headed north. And our Guild Ma- I mean never mind."

"I see... by the way, my name's Nynrin," Nynrin said, smiling. He extended his hand for a handshake. To his surprise, the blacksmith swiftly took it. He stifled a groan at the strength of the handshake. His hand was too strong, and heavily calloused for his delicate hand.

"Balimund," he smiled, nodding. Suddenly he turned from looking unapproachable to friendly teddy bear. Now the townspeople were muttering in loud volume, surprised by such a gesture.

"An high elf in Riften!" he heard someone say. He didn't bother to correct them because it was for the best if they did not know his true race.

"He just shook his hand just now?" Someone with a tricky tongue said. A jeweler.

"That's a nice bow there," Balimund commented, noticing the finest pieces he had ever seen that were secured on his back. That and complimentary arrows. "Glass, huh?"

"Actually, it's made of crystal."

Dumbfounded, Balimund muttered, "Crystal? Isn't that something mages use or something?"

"Depends on what you use it for. Basically, there are two types. One, you might have seen them on mages' staffs before. They use crystals to amplify energy so they don't have to enchant it. Second, use it as a crafting material- It's very similar to glass. Like glass, it first comes in powder nature. Made of crystalline powder," Nynrin explained. He had no problems with sharing some of his secrets.

"You HAVE to teach me that! Though, I don't really have much experience with glass..." Balimund said, now astonished and interested in him. Who wouldn't want to know the secret work of exotics and make immense profits from it? He looked at the bow and learned quickly the differences in appearance. Unlike glass and its natural blue-green hue and opaqueness, his looked clear, white. So clean and the top, bottom of limbs had eccentric wheels that were decorated with small, solid crystals. To an untrained materials eyes, they'd look like diamonds. And the rest was trimmed with silver linings.

"I'm sorry. I don't know even know my own blacksmith, let alone the precise process of it. Would you kindly show me the inn?"

"Oh sure, it's right across the market," Balimund said, pointing at the door of a tavern. "Please, enjoy your stay. Tell Keerava a drink's on me."

The day was long. He was more than happy to try some of the local ales before going to bed. A few hours passed and Nynrin was sitting at the bar. The townspeople, even guests were still exchanging a few comments about that strange elf in all white garment. Some even looked too frightened to approach him to fulfill their curiosity. Everyone wanted to know where he came from.

At first, Nynrin may look highly suspicious especially when he refused to take down his hood but apparently, Balimund had shared a few warm words that seemed to put the townspeople and guards at ease.

"I like this... very... bitter," Nynrin said, licking his lips after trying the Riften's specialty, the Black-Briar Mead. "Yet there's a... bit, subtle sweetness at the end."

All the sudden, Keerava the argonian bartender took out a small bell from the shelves underneath and shook it violently, drawing the attention of the patrons. She lifted her arms, "High elf liked the Black-Briar! Dis the first!"

Everyone cheered. "Tis calls a celebration. Moar mead for all of us!" said one of them, obviously drunk.

"You payin'?" she said, hissing. "You pay!"

"I'll pay," said Nynrin. "Put it on my tab."

"H-huh? You pay? All these gaspers?"

"Yes."

"Wow, must be filthy rich," said one of them.

"Shut up!" said another.

A few came up to him, suddenly not so intimidated by him anymore.

"Hey, elf-buddy. Say what your name?"

So Nynrin earned himself a few friends. But just before going to bed, Nynrin collected disturbing information from the bartender who happened to be a tavern owner also. Apparently, just before the Dragonbornn left, he had hired a freelance merchant who was hanging around the tavern to accompany him on his journey.


	3. Chapter 3: Key to the North

Chapter Three: Key to the North

I

"Harbinger! News from the Jarl!"

"What is it?" Drusus barked at Vilkas approaching him while packing his things. Farkas had not spoken to him since. Aela was no longer comfortable with his presence, since she had discovered Drusus was... well a vampire.

"We got ourselves a dragon. It's at Shearpoint, Northeast of here," Vilkas said, checking out the sharpness of his sword. He seemed eager.

"About time."

"Shall we go now?" He asked as he put his sword back in his sheath, satisfied.

"No offense but I'm doing this on my own."

"H-huh? But we're talking about a dragon here."

"So? I killed a few already myself," he said and began to leave the hall. Vilkas, of course followed him. He knew that it could be a dragon of ice or fire, a blood, or the ancient. Obviously, each one has a certain advantage and disadvantage. You just never know until you get close enough or when a dragon spit its elemental secrets at you.

"Well, maybe you won't be so lucky this time," Vilkas offered, mildly disappointed.

Before Drusus left, he turned to face Vilkas with a disturbing smile, knowing that bringing Vilkas would be nothing but inconvenience. "You know what I am now. And you're no longer a werewolf. What odds you have against a dragon? Your mere steel sword? Stay here so that you can live. Here's your chance. Settle down, get married, and breed like rabbits. Or better yet, learn how to read."

II

Since he never been to Shearpoint, a suggestion from a local was to head north till he reaches Lorceus Farm then take the path east toward the mountain and that he would discover a less taken path further between the mountains. Last words were 'Good luck, companion.' Luck? Pfft. Like he needed it. If he could kill a couple of dragons, then surely this one wouldn't be any different, right? So far, he had been so lucky. He wondered how long his luck would last though. Perhaps all the suffering he had in the pasts are being repaid.

Of course, on his Shadowmere, he galloped to the North as the local suggested. The terrains were wide and scattered with boulders. It was impossible for anyone to hide from his field of vision. And when he arrived at the farm about few hours later, he saw a ragged farmer working in the field. He must be working for the owner of the property.

"Hey, Nord. Do you know how I reach Shearpoint?"

The farmer looked as if he was about to retort something about his bluntness but as soon as he saw the red eyes of his horse, he shuddered.

"B-by the eight! What is that breed?"

He didn't answer.

"That way- East. Into the forests. Why?"

Drusus looked at where the farmer pointed his finger. He looked at the mountain range and could not see anything flying nearby. He wondered, was the dragon keeping them awake at night? Then he turned to ask, "Did you not see a dragon flying during the day or night?"

"A dragon?! Oh no! No, we did not. Is there really a dragon there?" he asked incredibly, "I better tell Mister now!"

"Listen, n'wah. Panicking won't do. Stay calm. I'll take care of it right now."

Drusus gestured the horse to take his leave. The farmer probably thought he was out of his mind as he didn't recognize who Drusus was. It also struck him odd that they did not see a gigantic dragon flying around so close to their farm. Because of its size in comparison to the mountain, any idiot could tell whether it was a hawk or a dragon. It had been a half a year since everyone in Skyrim acknowledged the existence of dragons. However, the origins were being questioned and researched. Despite that, Drusus could care less about the history of dragons and was more than happy to kill them. It wasn't that he was doing it for Skyrim, but for himself.

As he went to the forests, he couldn't help but ponder about the purpose of being a dragonborn. And why was he chosen? He was hardly a fit in the first place. He wasn't anyone particularly special. Born an orphan, sold as a slave, and ultimately when he escaped after retaliating against his masters, he flee to Skyrim. But then he was caught because he did not pay his stubs to board the ships. It was much later when they learned he had slaughtered a family before aboarding and decided to send him to execution site. That day of the execution was...

Somebody is here... no... there is a bunch of them. It said.

He stopped his horse to listen for any enemies nearby. He didn't hear anything but the inky substance suddenly came out of his armor. It happened so fast that Drusus lost his composure. He was too absorbed in his thoughts.

 _Bunch of them! It's a trap!_

"Quiet!" Drusus hissed, losing his concentration.

Suddenly, sequential arrows were being fired from all directions. Some bounced off his armor, some pierced through. Then suddenly one hit his neck. Groaning in pain, Drusus fell off the horse. The impact on the ground was enough to bruise his shoulder badly. He felt and heard it crack. Shadowmere neighed loudly before launching an attack to someone he did not see.

"Die, vampire!" Someone shouted. Vampire hunters?

Since it was daylight, he could not recover quickly. His inky substance was flaring madly as it could not reach anyone nearby. Obviously, these assailants were keeping their distances from him. Drusus looked around to find them but they would not reveal themselves. As he struggled to get up, he could feel arrows continuing to ratchet off his armor. Then before his eyes, he saw lightening spell coming to him, blinding him momentarily. He couldn't remember much after it. It happened so fast that he didn't realize he was on the ground again.

Then finally after a wave of offending arrows, Drusus was bleeding profusely, but he wasn't about to give up. Plenty of energy left. After the last ebb of lightening that struck him went away, he opened his eyes to see a circle of faces looking down on him.

"Quick, behead the vampire. It's the only sure way to kill one," said someone. Then he felt someone pulling his long hair.

Enraged by this beginning of humiliation, Drusus kicked the person in front of him, pushing him off to a good distance. He grabbed the arm that was pulling his hair and with all his strength, he threw the person over his head. Sitting up, he withdrew his daedric swords. Just in time, the other two who were by his sides had their swords blocked. The ink from the armor was still high and reaching the attackers but they seemed to be unaffected by it. Either they were immune or were not afraid to be physically drained. But this assassination attempt was desperate enough for Drusus to realize that he was set up. It was all a trap, indeed.

There were four... or five. He wasn't sure. He got up and there was no time to count heads. Everyone wearing their own outfits of various materials were attacking him simultaneously. Mercenaries hired to kill him. Like second nature, Drusus synchronously blocked each attempt and because there were too many, he could not think a way to counterattack. He kept pushing them back in hopes they'd be the first to stop or talk. But of course, with every shout and order, they were more than determined to finish him. Considering they were mere mortals with frail bodies, the number of them proved to be an efficient way to take turns.

With the arrows pierced into his body and armor, Drusus could feel himself being worn down and losing a lot of stamina.

"Die, damnit!"

"The divines damn you!"

The assailants shouted more insults, threw more profanities to cover up their growing fatigue of throwing unsuccessful attacks with their iron and steel swords.

"Why don't you just... die!" one female elf panted, heaving another swing.

At this point, he was sweating with exhaustion as they continued to pummel him with unskilled moves. Despite their amateurism, one move costed him a deep laceration on his forearm. Drusus cursed in his mother-tongue of Dunmers.

"I'll have your dust, vampire!" the one who threw a lightening spell at him spat. He threw a several spells but they were the same one as before. He could somewhat immunize himself against such a repetitive spell. In fact, shock was his favorite source of pleasure. Drusus was a known as a masochist. Most vampires were. It was quite absurd... the spell that was. Because Drusus had almost no use of his magicka. And the series of shock already drained all of his magicka, something he didn't use often anyway. Who was this dumbass mage- seriously?

After what seemed to take forever, the 'assassins' finally stopped. They were panting heavily, evidently worn out. For some, slow heavy attacks but powerful or fast quick attacks but weak was something every fighter should consider. This tactic for them was rather pathetic. Yet, Drusus gotta give them an A+ for efforts.

"Damn, he is good," the female elf said, huffing over to her knees. Then she took a quick drink of a red flask before tossing it into the grasses. It wasn't blood, for sure.

Drusus' ears began to ring with all that adrenaline rush. His head was spinning. The loss of blood. He licked his lips, suddenly hungry.

"You... done?" Drusus asked, swallowing what would be a very dry air. He couldn't see their face clearly as his vision was becoming very blurry. And being a vampire, seeing in the daylight was irritating. His eyes felt itchy from the dryness. And all in all, he was clearly the in the predicament. Perhaps, it wasn't the right time or place to taunt them.

"Look at you. You're weak now. And there's a lot of us still here." The mage who did not even deserve to be called a mage said smugly. Someone was laughing. It sounded like a deep-hearty laugh that belonged to the Nords.

 _Don't tell me you're losing to these mere mortals._ it growled. _I thought you said biters are strong... You are not..._

"I am!" Drusus shouted. "The best..."

"Huh?"

 _You should not have-_

"Just shut up!"

"He's delirious now. Let's go!"

 _Aw crap!_

Drusus barely blocked the first few but soon enough, his battered body failed his strength and vitality. Before Drusus realized it, he had a sword plunged through his stomach, just above his sash belt. It didn't register until the blood came flowing out of his mouth. Then the pain kicked in.

This is it? Drusus thought morbidly before falling to his knees. This is where he is going to die? By these amateurs? How humiliating. Only if they did not know of the beheading, he could've gone only into concussion, and probably survive afterward.

"Alright, we got him. Let have his head. Any last words before you die, vampire?"

"Y-yes," Drusus managed to say, "Tell my kid..."

"... a family?" the female elf whispered. Then a scream was heard. Heads turned to the direction where the scream was heard. Then they realized they had totally forgot one of their comrades. Drusus recognized that noise. Galloping and stomping sounds- It was one of theirs being mauled by a horse with red eyes.

"Shut up! No more talking!" the Nord said hastily, moving swiftly to bring his sword upon Drusus's head. He didn't want to waste any more time than they did. "ARRGGGH! Ahh..! ah..."

"What's wrong?" The mage asked as the Nord froze in the midst of execution. Then a sound of swoosh came snipping the bushes.

"Gyaaahh!" The Nord cried again in agony. He fell right onto the ground, his face hitting the dirt in front of Drusus. A couple of arrows on his back came into view.

The assailants shouted a few comments. "Where did that come from?" "Huh?" "Where!"

The arrow came through once again and struck the mage in the chest.

"Nuuuhh! Stop him!" he ordered the others but they seemed to be at loss.

"I can't see him!"

It was deep and fatal that the mage fell to the ground without uttering another word again. Before the female elf could say anything else, she was struck with an arrow into her stomach. She cried out, knowing that if she was not given another shot, she'd die a slow, painful death.

"Sorry!" one of them shouted to her and began to run away to retreat by himself, hoping it was not too late. Drusus knelt still, watching the whole scenario before him. He did not move an inch. Lucky again?

The man fleeing was not so lucky. His luck came to a halt as an arrow struck him in the back. Then Drusus saw a moment's glare that was reflected by the sunlight that seeped through the canopy of the trees and paid close attention to the type of arrows being used. Glass arrows? No... they do not give off a sparkle like that. It was definitely a material he had never seen before. The man fell dead as the arrow took the heart and his soul.

Drusus slowly got up. He was still in anguishing pain. He looked down, still grasping the impaled sword in his stomach to alleviate the gravity. Otherwise, it'd just tear apart his digestive system even further. He took a deep breath, not even caring to look for the savior who just saved his life. He reached for the handle and again took another breath before he swiftly took it out of his abdomen. "Ggggrah!"

He dropped the sword angrily and placed his hand over his most severe wound in an attempt to cover it but blood was pouring through his fingers. One more certainly would completely wipe him out and left vulnerable to proper execution.

Then wearily, he looked at a figure that came into view. A mortal completely dressed in white. All white. How did the assholes not see that through the pasture of greens and browns? Right... he must be from snowy region. And the paths toward Shearpoint were supposedly to be covered with snow.

"I suppose you're waiting for my words of gratitude," Drusus muttered as the figure in white on a white horse came closer and finally got off. He put his bow away. And his face inched closer.

"You're wounded badly," a male voice came. The voice was very gentle. And it sounded subtly saddened, "And you're a..."

"Thanks for the observation," Drusus said softly, still feeling on a verge to collapse. The inky substance of his armor vanished almost immediately as soon as the figure was close enough for Drusus to see the face clearly.

When their eyes met, Drusus found himself dazed. Suddenly, the presence of this person was cryptic. The eyes were of faded emerald. And the skin of light, refined moonstone. Hair that was framing his youthful face was platinum blond. Never before he saw such a light-skinned, light-haired mortal. At first glance, it was obvious to Drusus he was an elf. But... something was off. He didn't have the features of an Altmer, the lightest known race. For example, his eyebrows were nowhere as predominant as the high elf. His forehead was lacking compared to the Altmers. His chin was too thin. Face. Too round.

Although the elf was wearing a hood, concealing his ears, Drusus was quite confident with his recognition skills of known races.

"You're... not a high elf," Drusus said, still astonished by the face before him. Whatever his race was, it wouldn't change the fact that he looked completely untainted by any hardships. He was a beauty. So beautiful and surreal, his face... that could not possibly be worn by a demon, daedra or the like.

 _Who is he? What does he want?_ It said. _I don't like this. Stay away from this mortal._

"It's talking to you, isn't it," whispered the platinum blond.

"What... what are you?"

"I'm Nynrin. I'm an Altmer."

"Come here..." Drusus whispered, gesticulating him to come closer. The so-called 'altmer' seemed suspicious of him but moved slowly. Drusus did the same. The voice of Boethiah growled at him in protest, trying to convince him that he was in fact, an enemy. But since Drusus could not sense the danger coming from this mysterious youth, the inky powers of the prince failed to commence.

When they got close enough, Drusus quickly darted at the other elf's hood and whipped it down off his head. Then he looked at the ears to confirm his skepticism.

"You're not an Altmer," he hissed with confidence.

"How... do you know?"

"I know... I grew up with them," Drusus said with disgust. "Your ears."

"You can tell by... ears..? Wait, never mind that. Let me help you," Nynrin began to give his hand but Drusus dodged it. Just in time, they both heard a groan. Drusus looked at the female elf that was struck with an arrow to her stomach. Of course, she was still alive. Drusus went over to the figure. He was still covering his abdomen wound.

"Who sent you, s'wit?"

"W-wh..Buh."

"Tell me quickly, and I'll grant you a quick death."

"B-Bu. Bah-"

"Balgruuf?"

She slowly nodded.

"Impossible. He's on my side. Why would he..." Nothing was making sense. Something was a bit off.

"Who is he?" Nynrin asked.

"Whiterun's Jarl... why does he want to kill me?"

"You...gaa.."

"Perhaps because he found out you were a vampire and he wanted to protect his people?" Nynrin offered an explanation. Drusus growled with doubt. "I didn't kill her because I thought we'd get some information from her."

"You're so thoughtful," he muttered. "'Cuse me."

With care, he reached to her neck and bit her, draining some of her blood. But it wasn't enough. She died rather quickly, more than usual and the feeding became next to useless. He felt a little better but he didn't want to get up at all, feeling still weak.

"There's no 'we'" Drusus added to that thought, "Why did you help me?"

He couldn't bring himself to say 'save me' instead. He still felt a bit embarrassed, considering his wounds. When Nynrin struggled with right words to begin, Drusus went on, "I suppose because you want me to do something for you as an exchange of thanks? I didn't ask for any help. I don't owe you anything."

 _This elf is quite arrogant. Or is it the Dunmers? It's hard to believe he is chosen to be dragonborn. He obviously doesn't care about the people, only himself._ Nynrin thought bitterly.

"There is a reason why I came to find you," the blond nodded. "But first, I would like to attend your wounds."

"I'm fine..." he said, brushing the dirt off his armor as if nothing major happened.

"There... are arrows sticking out of you," Nynrin said as he took an arrow from his neck that was bent from the impact of falling to the ground. Drusus cringed as the blond elf pulled it out, spouting some blood. Sure, he was no doctor or anything but he knew mortals suffered wounds differently from vampires. For instance, vampires could almost immediately heal, with a generous amount of blood. Then their bodies could function normally. However, for mortals, the worst way to die was by the arrows. With no potions or rejuvenating magic, they could suffer tetanus, infections, and if the arrowheads were not properly removed, the wounds might not heal up properly, leaving behind scars and affecting their mobility. Of course, long painful weeks, sometimes months to full recovery.

Drusus took the rest of the arrows out himself- one in his lower right side and the one on upper chest. The ebbing of pain were everywhere but there was definitely no poison that was spreading throughout his body like the last time.

"Bite me."

Drusus looked at him seriously. Why so easily?

"Go ahead, you need some. Potions won't do. And I am not a very good mage. Take my blood."

Why say no? No one had the willingness to approach him. It certainly was much easier than trespassing into someone else's property and bite in hopes the victim wouldn't wake up. But it was often a failure. How could they not feel a pair of fangs painfully digging into their neck while sleeping.

"If you insist..." Drusus then smiled. He approached the white elf once again and saw that Nynrin swallowed nervously. "Are you sure?"

"Y-yes."

Drusus licked his dry-chapped lips. "Alright, just relax your muscles the best you can. It won't hurt... much."

Nynrin closed his eyes, not moving. Sturdy hands tilted his head, almost causing him to lose balance. Drusus was an elf of rather big stature. Perhaps it was the massive armor that was deceiving him. But in comparison, Nynrin felt incredibly small and thin. Then he felt his mouth chomping on his neck. It felt like small spears being inserted into his flesh. The tearing of skin and the fangs pushing through had the sensation of difficulty to reach a certain depth. He went deep down. At first, it was a pair of needles prickling but then as soon as he drank, Nynrin could sense the flow of blood being transported. The suction could be heard and felt. Then there was a feeling of inflaming as his body began to protest the invasion. Unconsciously, Nynrin put up his arms to push him away. As if it was instinctive to defend himself but fortunately, Drusus was strong enough to immobilize him, despite his wounds. In some ways, it reduced the pain. At this point was an experience to understand and estimate the strength of this elf. He was far from a weakling.

As Drusus drank, there was this eerie and uncomfortable sensation of ebbing- his blood pounding menacingly along his heartbeat and the suction of the fangs. It wasn't all in one go, but rather a series of intakes, according to natural blood circulation. The pain was short-lived but only because Nynrin's neck was being numbed and perhaps paralyzed.

A minute passed by, and Nynrin knew Drusus had enough as he heard a deep, pleasurable moan from biter's throat. He had reached an extreme euphoria.

"Enough," Nynrin cried, pushing the other man off of him but he was very strong. Thankfully, Drusus stopped and pulled back but still had his arms around Nynrin securely holding him in place. Nynrin was surprised that Drusus had an amazing amount of control. There was mixture of blood all over Drusus' chin and that sight alone made Nynrin shudder with disgust.

 _How could I save this man from his own perils? Look at him! An animal!_ Nynrin thought.

"Your blood..." Drusus sighed blissfully, completely satisfied with his thirst. The fierceness that was in his glossy blacked out eyes disappeared. There were a hint of crimson sparking somewhere in the void- the typical color of a dark elf. That blood... was nothing like any he had tasted before. It didn't taste like corundum at all. He licked his lips, savoring the aftertaste of sweetness.

"Alright, get off me, please."

Drusus did so. Apparently there was an oops. He had put some blood on his immaculate white robe that was hiding his armor... wait a minute... that armor...

"There's no way in oblivion..." Drusus muttered as realization struck him. "You're a Falmer!"

The way Drusus said it certainly sounded he was surprised. Nynrin looked at Drusus who was absolutely flabbergasted. The sudden change from his intimidating look to an awed look was priceless.

"I'm not a Falmer," Nynrin said nonchalantly. It was the truth. His armor was not of Ancient Falmers but rather an alternative, generic kind.

"Falmers. Snow elves. Same difference!" Drusus was still in this voice of surprise, "You should've told- I would not have done it."

Nynrin chuckled. For some reason, he couldn't believe that. Who wouldn't want the blood of so-called Falmers? Especially, vampires? "Why so? Did you want to preserve me? In your man size glass container, or perhaps as a mannequin?"

Silence...

Drusus' voice suddenly changed back to normal. "Alright. You know what. I don't care. So there are more of you, aren't there? How many? You came for me. Why? What is so urgent that you had to come out of your hiding place?"

Nynrin sighed. He couldn't even fool the dragonborn to believe he was an Altmer, so the dealings would have to be readjusted.

"I'll explain later. First, let's leave this place and have you cleaned up."


	4. Chapter 4: Infernal Possession

Chapter Four: Infernal Possession

I

Through the gracious shower of bright snow, the two elves were riding their horses, Enri and Shadowmere, heading north absentmindedly. The gentleness of these snowflakes which stand so affably on their hoods and gears reminded them how soon they were to be blanketed with an icy mire of bitter winter. Although it was technically spring, they knew there was something deceiving about these snowflakes. Soon when the clouds exhaust themselves, the soil would be saturated and sludgy- a right recipe to make anyone who is not careful to keep dry fall ill to a terrible cold or flu.

Although Nynrin was used to the cold, still he could not possibly care any less where they were going as he was new to the inland. For some strange reason, despite roaming aimlessly through the slanted woods, with trees and their branches crackling under the gaining weight of snow, there was a serene tranquility he hadn't felt in a long time. Quite the contrary, wasn't it? The dark elf was silent the whole time and that alone somehow gave him a sense of peace and security. They only just met and yet... they felt as if they knew each other for a long time. Perhaps they knew each other in previous lives? But perhaps it was because silence wasn't unfamiliar to him. In his studies, he had to do a lot of meditation.

"You alright?"

"...No. I mean yes."

"Is it talking to you?" Nynrin wondered.

He said nothing.

 _Why do you bother with this weakling..._ it said, _I smell no strength from this mortal..._

"I wonder what he is saying about me."

"... more than I'd like it to," Drusus muttered. He meant to respond to the original question. This Boethiah had been talking _a lot_ more than he'd like it to.

"Eh?"

"Never mind."

Nynrin had noticed long before that Drusus occasionally slumped his shoulders over the neck of Shadowmere as if he was going to fall off but then he would suddenly sit up before the snow elf had the chance to ask what was wrong. Now, it was clear that it was time to rest. Drusus finally stopped the horse from a snail pace to a full stop, revealing his face to him. His eyes were to his surprise, red. Weren't they black before...? Nynrin halted his horse next to him.

"Are you alright?"

 _So annoying,_ Drusus thought. He was beginning to understand people less and less, with all their inquiring his health. _Why do they care?_ In fact, he never felt great. It was just that he wasn't getting enough rest. And lately... it seemed as if the feeding interval had shortened. When he became a vampire, he couldn't eat for a whole week. Every time he ate, he threw up. He absolutely had no appetite either. As a result, he lost a lot of weight... but now that he had gained mass and weight due to his endless experience with dealing with bandits and the forsaken, and he needed to eat more. The last he would wanted was to be called a milk drinker.

"I'm fine. Just tired. I don't like... daytime. Sun makes me sleepy. I don't like snow. It hurts my eyes."

Nynrin nodded, "Right."

Of course a vampire would be nocturnal. It wasn't even particularly bright since the clouds were slated gray but Nynrin understood. All he could do was to try to adjust to HIS biological clock. But it was more than that. Although the snow elf said it as if he was indifferent to what the other man really felt, Nynrin knew otherwise. That man was struggling inside, from within that he could sense pain. Just a little, he felt pity for this man.

"I think I see a tower," Nynrin said softly after a while. He caught a sight of what looked like a crumbling tower sloped to one side in a distance. "It's probably abandoned. Let's rest there."

"It's probably infected with idiot n'wah.. or worse... mages," Drusus continued to mutter. He leaned over the horse, crossing his arms on the saddle's hold. "With their skeleton fuck-buddies."

"I'll take care of them, then. You stay here."

Drusus scoffed. The seriousness in his youthful voice to his perky ears was enough to make him laugh miserably. He wondered how naive the snow elf was.

"I cannot have that," Drusus declared. Suddenly, it seemed like he got his strength back but he couldn't let the thought of a snow elf being perished by the fires, their natural elemental enemy to take ahold of him. Nynrin was walking gold! Just a tooth of an untainted snow elf must worth a fortune. However, luckily for the little snowflake, wealth to Drusus meant nothing. Nynrin was about to inquire what he meant by that but the dark elf immediately took his daedric sword out and yelled, "CHARGE!"

Drusus kicked the horse in the belly and off he went like a Nord at a sight of a feeble island filled with indigenous people in hopes of gold.

"Hey..." Nynrin was slightly offended. There were advantages of being a deadly archer with his white camouflage... but what apparently worked well was this: a blood-thirsty grey ghost on a reaper-like horse with two pairs of crimson-blood eyes in a bulky black armor which is followed by black smoke, in contrast with the snowbanks, letting out a gurgling scream towards your enemies. Being with a dragonborn... was a suicidal pact indeed.

As Nynrin hasted to catch up with him, he was slow to realize that he was right after all. Shadowmere neighed in protest, like it was disappointed all the hype was for nothing.

Drusus was chuckling at an entrance when Nynrin caught up to him, looking at him as if he had gone mad. "Nobody's here, after all...'cept for a few big rats. Yum, yum."

Nynrin shuddered, finding it difficult to believe this Dunmer was sworn as a dovah. He just didn't look the type to think ahead... and that was NOT good sign. Either that or Drusus was trying to be anti-social and all, driving people away on purpose whenever possible. But it seemed Drusus was in better mood and Nynrin let it slide.

"Skeevers were good. Tasty." Indeed, WERE. They were exceptionally good roasted with honey however he could not consume cooked meals anymore. Eating them raw would prove just plain stupid as they carry a lot of diseases. He hardly missed eating them though.

"Steeva what?"

"Skeevers..." Drusus got off the horse. Guess the little prince of snow never tried them before. They probably did not exist in his immaculate, clean, perfect, untainted realm wherever it might be. "They're big rats. Fus.. fus..."

"Fus?"

"RO DAH!"

Suddenly, a spiral of wind came out from Drusus' mouth and its shuddering force pushed the entrance wide open and clear of wooden debris. Nynrin went deaf for a second. And it happened so fast, Nynrin thought he went delirious due to poor circulation, coming down from a horse and all.

"Azura... bless you?"

"Dra-gon. Born. Shout," Drusus said each syllabus exasperatedly as if he was expecting the other elf to know this basic shit. He sneered at his blond comrade. "You're really a s'wit..."

"Oh, that was a thu'um? Ah yes, I read about it. Dovah acquires them."

"Derr..." Drusus walked his horse inside by her reins into the front courtyard, scattered with broken caravans and wagons everywhere. It used to have a little market then. Nynrin followed like an obedient servant.

"There's a door."

Thanks, Mr. Captain Obvious! Drusus would have never found that 'el-damned door if it wasn't for the forsaken scourging sun, which, by the way, was very lazy this day. He was starting to find the snow elf just as annoying as the voice in his head. Speaking of which, Drusus had managed to ignore it. But he certainly didn't expect Boethiah to be so much like a Nord or a Mer. It hardly spoke at first but then ever since becoming a vampire, it had been awfully patronizing and he was still trying to... adjust, but having attackers scream bloody murder from every bush he encountered wasn't exactly helping. His progress was somewhat stagnant. Yes, the number of enemies went exponential. He had his head wanted everywhere. Tons of reasons. It could be because he was simply a dragonborn. An anti-dragonborn if you will. Because there always will be an anti to something! Two- it could be because he was a vampire. Three- it could be simply he was an asshole. Take your pick.

Though, Drusus was still pretty pissed off about the attack and the discrepancy. Balgruuf? Why...

 _Forget that cross-dressin' Barf..._ it droned. _What does this idiot Falmer want? Why are you not suspicious of him?_

"Haha, suspicious of him?" Drusus laughed to himself. This snow elf is in the enemy's territory for thousands of miles wide! What of a threat is he?

"What?" Nynrin asked from behind, "It's talking to you again."

Drusus opened the door, which was not locked after all, "After you, my prince."

Although he was saying it in a mocking way, the platinum blond paused and cringed at that word. _Prince. My prince._ How could it be possible to be more offended by a mere word than being mocked? "Please don't call me that."

"Fine," Drusus spat, narrowing his eyebrows, "Get your snowy ass in there."

Nynrin sighed and went inside. It was dark as night and immediately, he lifted his hand to cast a magelight. For Drusus who could see in the dark without anything, it wasn't needed.

"Ugh! El-damnit..." Drusus squirted his eyes and looked away from that horrible dreadful spell that soon after lingered them as they inched into the foyer. Then they went silent.

Their footsteps from hard boots echoed through the halls devoid of life. Strange dusty air filled the dark elf's experienced nose. Usually he could smell days-old fire and shreds of dry meat. There were always someone looking for shelter, especially if the weather was either wet or cold. Quite a distance from the nearest town. And the entrance wasn't exactly bolted shut. Drusus found it odd for this abandoned tower not be visited from time to time.

Both elves found a room that had three beds which leather were stretched to their filmsy wooden frames. Nynrin pushed his hand upon one of them to test its elasticity and stability. "Here's good?"

"Yeah..." Drusus' eyes were too busy scanning the room for goods and loots. But there were nothing but worthless junk- all made of wood. It wasn't long before Drusus forgot as his eyelids were growing heavy. Nynrin lit one of the torch lights on the wall and ceased the magelight. Much better... Its somber warm light was easier on Drusus' eyes.

Drusus sat on the bed, looking down to the ground, pondering for a minute. Nynrin did the same but for once, Drusus was glad that no word had come out yet. All he heard was the soft crackling of the torch. Ever felt like there was something you forgot but could not pinpoint what it was that you forgot? There was an inexplicable feeling of having missed something important. Something was amiss, so to speak. Ever since that attack, whenever there was a calm and stillness, something kept returning and resurfacing to eat him up. Although, Drusus wondered how- he could not shake off that nagging feeling- not from Boethiah himself- but from within that he could slay a dragon but not four n'wits who were sent to kill him. Assassins from Balgruuf? No way jose. Angrily, Drusus took out the sheathed sword from his waist and threw it down on the ground, creating loud clattering sounds as they made contact with cold stone flooring, which this abrupt behavior startled the snow elf a bit.

"Hey..." Nynrin leaned over to him, saying softly as if he did not want to anger him further, "It's alright."

Drusus rolled his eyes and stood up a bit more straight and said, "Listen, n'wah..."

"Let's check your wounds," the blond said suddenly, taking out his hand to reach his chest. This startled Drusus.

"Urelvuh Hra'sint," Drusus said in a ragged voice. In response to his hand, he swatted it away.

"What? I'm sorry?"

Drusus spoke in his mother tongue, Dunmeri, and he didn't even realize it. Clearing his voice, Drusus sighed and tried again, leaning over to his knees once again and finally glared at the snow elf again to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

Nynrin swallowed hard. How could you not feel nervous under these hardened eyes who had seen things too ugly to be told? These eyes had seen plenty of death, enough to make your blood run cold with fear.

"I don't have any," Drusus said slowly, as if he was talking to a child, "Do you not know we heal up right away... especially after drinking? Be careful who you feed... Cuz I might bite the hand that feeds…"

"Ever heard of Raven Rock of Solstheim?"

"Don't get too ahead of me now... alright, just let me take this off first," Drusus drabbled on, standing up to unclick the clasps of his ebony masterpiece.

"Y-you..."

"What?"

Nynrin thought he would have a difficult time taking off that piece of armor but the dark elf before him seemed totally unaffected. For some reason, he would have expected him to be very reluctant to take it off, being under influence and all. Perhaps... it wasn't too late after all. These madmans who were deprived of sleep might not have taken bath for months because then that is when they lose touch of reality and their fear of losing their only items of power started to take a hold. Drusus haven't fell into one of these vices of mortality yet.

"Never mind. Go ahead."

 _I will find out_ , it promised, _I will know everything you know by the moonlight._ Drusus sighed deeply, only slightly annoyed. Proceeding with taking off the armor and gauntlets, Nynrin took the deliberation to do the same. Well, his cape and hood only. Then, he propped his weapons against the wooden nightstand, waiting for him to finish. Finally, at length, when he had all off except the mail underneath.

"Let's get down to business. What do you want from me?"

"Find Miraak and kill him."

"... that's it?"

"Well, do you know or have heard of him?"

"No... but if it's just one man, then that's easy. You can hire any mercenary to do the job. Or do it yourself. We, in Skyrim, do it all the time," Drusus said, and then chuckled. It was totally the norm these days. Always somebody out there wanting to kill somebody. And somebody somebody hired to kill somebody.

"If it were that simple, I would not have come to you," Nynrin said sadly.

Drusus nodded ponderously. That was true. This was a snow elf, whose risk must be an indication of matter much more serious, being out and about from their hiding places. Nynrin found the confidence to press this issue much further, "Miraak is the first dovahkiin, Drusus. The very first, so he is very ancient. And must have been restrained somewhere until now. And-"

"I'm not interested."

"W-what? I haven't finished."

"How does this concern me?"

"I don't think you realize the magnitude of his hunger for power."

"Who isn't?" Drusus scoffed. "Everyone hungers power, including me."

"Think about all the Dragonborns before you. All of them eventually let their greed engulf them till they are deprived of mortality known to man."

"I never asked to be a hero and I don't intend to be one," Drusus shot him a dirty look. If greed shall his demise, so be it. Zero fucks given. Stray about the path of the forsaken. He was rather feeling forsaken than blessed with this incarnate.

"No..." Nynrin shook his head quickly, struggling to find the right words. "Their rationale thinking, their personhood. They'll forget who they are!"

"That sounds good to me," muttered Drusus. Plenty of memories to erase. He was ready to indulge into darkness completely. Perhaps, he and this Miraak could be best buddies for life. The blond elf just sighed, growing frustrated that he might not be so different after all. He didn't expect him to be this... well misanthropic and demoralized long before the daedric princes even touched him. This proved to be a disastrous choice of a dovahkiin. The fate of Skyrim was more morbid than he thought. As if this land was truly disowned and forgotten by the gods and goddesses. Like back at home, it certainly felt as if this playground for demons had reached out its grim reaper-like fingers to bring ailments into beyond.

If Drusus were to give into the total submission of Boethiah, get drunk with power, and live with the insatiable thirst for true blood… then he becomes the perfect recipe of disaster in the making. And that was a terrible understatement. Nynrin began to question from square one. Maybe he got the wrong person somehow? Was there another 'Drusus'? Maybe this was an imposter? He felt like he'd never understand how Dragonborns were chosen. This couldn't be! This man?

Drusus saw that Nynrin's face was becoming of sorrow. "Aw, don't be sad, snow elf. Just tell me my rewards, and I might be interested."

"Rewards?" Nynrin came back to reality, "Oh right, yes... I..."

"Hurry up."

But Nynrin couldn't speak. He didn't have the time to think of rewards. Usually, it was gold but knowing Drusus so far, it was unlikely he'd do it for gold or wealth. Perhaps he would have wanted the same as Miraak wanted. But he had no idea how to stop Miraak. He had no idea what his strength was. Or even if he had an army of mer. The thoughts of the Fallen from the underground of purple infernal of hell under his command made him paralyzed with sickness-inducing worry.

Drusus saw this- a strange blankness that just didn't suit that pretty face. Quite scary, actually. So easily the words Drusus spoke crushed whatever hopes the blond had.

"Hey! Snap out of it," Drusus waved his hand in front of him, in attempt to interrupt his negative train of thoughts. Maybe he should hear out more often.

"S-sorry. I'm not... sure. But I beg you. I'll do whatever it takes. Anything. Septims, gold, jewelry, weapon, even my life."

"Nin-Nin," Drusus said, not even sure how to pronounce his name properly, "Listen... Let's start from the beginning. What happened?"

Nynrin sighed deeply before he began, "I saw visions ever since a child. But this one was different... became it came to me in person. A goddess by the name of Cyra-El, which even my people never heard of. She came to me and said that this mortal, Miraak is threatening to open the gates into our city where, to the best of my knowledge, the only snow elves dwell... They've successfully killed our Guardians of the wayshrines, which was... a step too close for our liking. The Guardians were somehow lured into their trap, making them visible, or maybe... some sort of... magic that somehow detected them. And I believe they have found our wayshrines and are trying to open them as we speak. Once open, they can-"

"I know... sss...s'wit, just hearing you babble on and on makes me so sleepy," Drusus yawned and turned over to the bed. He couldn't help it. Nynrin was baffled by such indifference. Unbelievable!

"Please!" Nynrin stood up and placed his hands on his arms, shaking him, "Please, I beg you to come with me-"

"Hey, hey!" Drusus turned out and shouted. "Why didn't you just go after him with your stinkin' Falmers?! Why did you have to come into my el-damned life! El-damn you!"

"But Cyra-El told me to take you there!" Nynrin babbled, not registering what the heck Drusus was saying. He was on a verge of tears. "You're the only one who can defeat him! You!"

"Did it ever occur to you that perhaps this Cyrah or whatever was a daedric 'cuz I never before heard of that bitch?" It was not unusual for daedric princes to deceive others as 'good' beings or impersonate other gods and goddesses.

"I did not detect her as so! Please!"

"Shut up!" Drusus said at last, peeling these tiny hands off of him. "I will help you."

II

To be honest, Drusus had no idea why he wanted to help him. Ok perhaps. From objective or rationality side to it, he would have done it for rewards- but gold or wealth did not interest him. Fame, definitely not! He was born and cursed to be called a dovahkiin. There was no logic to it at all. But as for helping, it made more sense, considering the fact that Nynrin was probably one of the rarest species to have ever walked in modern age on this planet, Nirn. Funny how their names sounded similar. But he was definitely not born or was from here as it seemed like they dwelled in a different dimension than of what Drusus knew.

Nynrin… he was drop dead gorgeous… Flawless skin of moonstone, untainted of any hardships, no scars, clean and spotless. Perfect physically, not incorporeal like some daedric princes. That was the best part. Even they cannot duplicate that raw form of beauty. But from Drusus' subjective perspective, how could he pass this opportunity to keep one as a pet. Never mind that he might become a hero who has saved the last snow elves or perhaps revived their race.

 _He is just so pathetic_ , Drusus thought, trying to make an excuse for himself. Sure, it was easy to feel such PITY for an endangered race but he knew he was going to an awful stretch when he could simply have Nynrin for himself. But Drusus couldn't bring himself to taint him any further than he had already done by biting him, risking him for carrying Vampiris as well.

 _Please I beg you._ His plea rang in his mind. In response, Boethiah mocked him.

 _Please I beg you!_ It imitated his voice miserably, as it could not suppress the guttural growling from palpitating these genuine cries of help. _I beg you. I beg you!_ Then it let out a howling laughter at this sheer pleasure of submission.

Besides Drusus couldn't resist that babylike face when he begged. It looked almost as if he was pouting but he hated infants. He would be more than happy to exterminate one in their cradle if he knew of its fate. No one is innocent. But although, Nynrin certainly far from being a baby and he could take care of himself well. Still there was strange sense that the dark elf wanted to protect him. Drusus knew no one is innocent in this cursed ill-fated world but Nynrin was not from this world.

He just felt he had to.

 _Keep on begging…_ Then he heard a stifled moan. All the sudden, Drusus felt so horny, grinding his growing erection against the dried leather. Pain. Too painful. Still he couldn't help it.

 _Beg for me…_

Then there was a low soft sounds of murmuring. It sounded like…it was Nynrin but not quite.

 _Who is the hell is talking here_ … Drusus narrowed his eyebrows, confused by whose voice it could be that was speaking. It didn't sound like… W _ait a minute…_

Drusus was not supposed to hear any voices in his head anyway when NOT wearing the armor!

When he opened his eyes up from his little nap, he heard something approaching him. As if it was instinct, the dark elf attempted to cover his erection with his hand. Slowly, he got up from his light slumber, wondering why the snow elf had been so damn quiet. As he turned around to see the bed next to him, he asked, "Nin-nin?"

But the footsteps suddenly stopped. Then he realized they were not his. And the snow elf was nowhere in sight. His weapons were not there. The bed- as empty as the heart of this palace. _Where the oblivion is he?_

"Alright." He murmured, getting up. One hand grabbed his daedric sword, and then the other- he lifted his arm to ablaze a pathetic spell of water. With zero effort, he threw it right at the burning torch that was on the wall, splattering it into oblivion of darkness. The clumsiness and his lack of training in magic was indeed intentional. The splatter obviously would alert the invaders.

"What was that?" one of them muttered. Having excellent hearing, Drusus knew how far they were and how their whispering spoke volume. Drusus hid behind the opened door for he had no time to put on his armor to blend into the dark. Although, he normally would just blend into the darkness, but without his armor, his stark pale gray body could give away to ordinary man. The footsteps came closer. Two of them.

The dripping which remained from the torch undeniably gave away his location. The two idiots gave away their location as well, not because they underestimated his heightened hearing ability, but also one of them was carrying a torch. Its light inched the hallways.

"He's in there…" another whisper. Drusus waited patiently for an opportunity, watching intensely through the gap of the door. A merged gray outlines of individuals entered his night-vision like eyes. They were wearing strange garments that defied the natural shape of bodies. He had seen bulky armors but not like these. Tiny spikes, like Durian fruits. One of them crept into the room. So when Drusus saw the full figure, he kicked the door shut.

"Ah! Found you!" the man behind the door clamored, tossing his torch down forcefully like it was going out of fashion. However, before his first invader had the chance to turn around or even yell, Drusus drove the daedric sword right into him, instantly killing him due to its high damage. Then quickly, he grabbed the hair and turned the body around as to compensate the lack of physical guard. The man was ridiculously light as to be able to drag around like a rag doll. Drusus must be twice as big. And this 'shield' was hilariously small. And useless.

When the second invader kicked the door open again, Drusus violently shoved the body at him, staggering him with shock and force. The force of his throw was enough to flatten both of them into the hallways. And in the process, Drusus heard the nasty sound of his skull- its bare flesh hitting on stone.

"Arrg!" He screamed as the body lay dead weight on him. He had nearly impaled it once again.

Drusus walked toward him, smiling to the unbeknownst humorous aspect of this circumstance. As his next victim struggled to get the body off of him, Drusus took the time to study the garments the men were wearing. With the torch lying next to them, there was a clear view of the masks. However, he did not recognize them from anywhere. It was unknown material but the first thought he had was bones because of its yellowish color but Drusus did not know how it was possible to mold bones, especially with such shiny and smooth surfaces like these, and yet have edges that looked sharp enough to cut skin? They were no ordinary masks- as they looked like a skeleton of a fish but with tentacles that wrapped around their head. They had matching one arm guard of the same unknown material.

"Nice mask," Drusus said as the man finally managed to push the body over and stand up. But he seemed to lack balance. Blood on the stone indicated that maybe they should've thought out better with the design of their masks. Well, they were indeed masks- not helmets.

"I'll kill you, right," he said, his voice quivering. Drusus sniffed for fear, but it was more due to his growing concussion. He was stumbling backward, nearly losing his balance. As if he was blind. Drusus approached him and again, he noticed something strange about the mask. It seemed like they had no opening for them to see. Only tiny little holes. Whoever invented this should be banished to oblivion.

"Go right ahead, kid. Give me your best shot."

He took a swing but Drusus easily dodged it by placing his back toward the wall.

Then he got angry. It was a total waste of his time. This man was pathetically weak AND a novice. Although, fully armored, he was no match to Drusus who was wearing nothing but mail, and shit. Not even his arm guards. If someone really wanted to fuckin' kill him, why not send experienced assassins? Or even stealthy ones? Fight fire with fire. Drusus couldn't help but feel like he was being gamed. Toyed. Teased.

Drusus bellowed at him, his face distorted enough to terrify the man into attacking him. Experienced block. Clang. Clash.

The dark elf managed to block his way forward into the main chamber. He jabbed at his attacker's armor as a joke. He gave him about 5 chances to hit him. Of course, not a hair. When he had enough, he put all of his force to knock the Chitin sword out of masked man's hand. Its reverberation of its harder-than-steel shivered his right arm. Bones are known to be 5 times stronger than steel.

"Argh, bastard!" he cried.

"Who sent you?" Drusus muttered as he knocked him over with another jab of his sword. The man fell backward over some unsuspecting poor, broken chair.

"Everyone!" The man threw his arms up, despite being on the ground. Not only he was wearing a mask but he was also employing a mask to his fear by throwing his explosive gestulations around, like a child with terrible tantrum. "Everyone wants you dead. So die, you, Azura condemned, UGLY-ASS ELF!"

Enraged in the hellfire of wrath, his vision went red. He found himself behind the man, doing his favorite maneuver. The slitting.

"Gga-" was all his throat managed. Drusus' hatred had intensified to a point he made sure he finished with nice flush of a crimson river, not some spurting. He applied as hard as he could. The aroma of blood filling his nostril made him suddenly hungry at strangest hour. Grabbing the hair, he dived his face into the neck of his now deceased, burying his mouth and nose into gushing flesh like a savage animal. With fangs withdrawn, anger drove him to tear out a portion of his neck- the body nearly the state of decapitated. With all that red frenzy fury, Drusus was convinced this victim was asking for suicide.

Drusus growled and dropped the head down with a growing disgust within at himself. He started to pant from the lack of oxygen as he was snorting with blood like it was drug. He used his hand in attempt to wipe all the blood off of him.

And just in time, he heard a door being opened. And there waltzed in a clueless, but familiar elf. His blond just shone.

"Oh… what happened?"

Oh what happened?! What do you mean? What happened? Slowly, Drusus turned his head towards him in disbelief.

"What happened?" Drusus mocked. When the snow elf came into a considerable distance, Drusus grabbed him by the collar of his robe and pulled him in closer. "They nearly butchered me in my sleep, you s'wit!"

Using the other hand, he pulled him closer again, jerking him. "What do you mean, what happened? Where have you been!? If I were to be butchered in my sleep, then what? You won't have me to defeat Miraak. Then what?" A jerk. "Miraak invades your precious little city, huh. Then what? You know what happens after that?" Another jerk, "Then, they turn you into another slave race. Then what? Huh? You only will have yourself to blame. Right? Huh?" Drusus then shook him violently, "Over a little blunder like this-"

"Drusus- Dru- S-stop it! Calm down."

"You s'wah…" Drusus wasn't really angry. But he felt the need to emphasize it. He let go of Nynrin's cloak. "Your stupid race must be stupid."

"I'm sorry! I was hungry, okay!? So I went out just for a bit. But I- I swear, I did not see anyone-"

Then Drusus realized something. Shadowmere. Although, it was not unusual for his horse to disappear at times, he couldn't help but wonder why she didn't make any noise if there were enemies nearby, which surely they would wake him. "Where is my el-damned horse?"

Nynrin nervously pointed his finger at the door wherefrom he came in, "She's still out in front…"

"Another entrance…" muttered Drusus, rather annoyed than perturbed. They must have found another way into the tower. Probably in the back somewhere where they did not wish to explore further.

Nynrin finally took a good look at the body and shuddered slightly at the unappetizing feast of flesh in the pool of blood, still finding its way along the stones. This was the dinner table for wild, bestial, and untamed vampires. But something was very familiar… the mask. He had seen it before. "Wait…"

He took upon a closer inspection and realized that the masked man must be one of the men he had seen in his visions. The design was uncanonically alike to the creatures he saw in the midst of inky substance and black masses of squirming tentacles, which was definitely not of Boethiah. He frisked the body for any pockets. And from there, he pulled out a scrambled papyrus. There must be some clue to whereabouts they came from.

"There's something," Nynrin said eagerly and unfolded the paper. It said:

 _Board the vessel Northern Maiden docked at Raven Rock. Take it to Windhelm, then begin your search. Kill the false dragonborn known as Drusus Dredhendis and his companions before they reach Solstheim. Return with word of your success, and Miraak shall be most pleased._

"Well, now we know how to get there… N'wah shouldn't have carried around orders in their pockets," Drusus shook his head in disbelief of such stupidity. He didn't seem to be at all affected. On the other hand, however, Nynrin's hand started to shake, paper rustling.

"He knew your name… and he knew you were coming with... It means… he knows- he can see us?"

"Nah," Drusus said quickly as the sight of his companion shaking bothered him. "News travels fast… especially I'm famous and all… they probably heard of us being together. Don't worry… I'll protect you… given if you don't make stupid blunder like that again…"

Nynrin just sighed, "I'm sorry. I just… I was going out just for a bit. I've spotted some berries on the way here."

"Huh? What did you get?"

The dark elf noticed that he came in… empty-handed? If he were out just 'for a bit', surely, he would bring back a carcass to cook in a fire?

"What do you mean? I ate some snowberries and some plants."

"No meat?"

"Oh no, no. We don't eat meat."

Drusus chuckled as he was pretty sure he heard wrong. "What do you mean- you don't eat meat."

"We…don't."

Silence…

"Yeah right.,. Aren't you n'wahs from snowy regions? How in the oblivion do you feed yourselves?" Drusus said, perplexed and started to wonder perhaps they weren't too far from the physique of the Falmers, who were sickly skinny. He couldn't imagine having to survive underground, eating those strange glowing mushrooms, which weren't even fit for human or mer to eat. They retorted to cannibalism, after all. What a skeeverhole.

"We have what they call a terrarium."

"What is it?"

"We have buildings to grow food, all done indoors."

"Huh, how is that possible?" He wasn't exactly exceling in alchemy. But alchemy wasn't for food.

"We have a blue sun, and we have no nights. But it isn't enough to feed a population like ours. So we build these terrariums, which are made of glass but to harvest solar power, we use crystals, which are lined up on top of them. It helps pool and trap the natural atmospheric gases inside. So it's like we're fooling these plants into thinking they're in a warmer climate. We can even grow foods that only grow in hot places, or so according to our alchemy studies. We even can grow them underground-"

Drusus let out a violent shudder at that word.

"I'm sorry… I'm boring you to death with my lecturing."

Then Drusus just nodded intermittently as if he was saying 'okay. Okay. Okay.' It just struck very unusual that he had no idea what to say other than 'cool story, bro'. Well, 'unusual' was an understatement. Certainly outworldly. He had never met anyone who did not eat meat. Survival, these days was too critical to consider omitting meat from diet. The weather was never so forgiving. There had been too many crop failures in the past.

Nynrin, on the other hand, was surprised to see Drusus' anew interest- despite in the meantime, Drusus had his back turned- presumably to retrieve his items from the room where the fight supposedly to have taken place just minutes ago. Lately, he seemed to be paying attention to little details. At first impression, he took the dark elf not talkative at all. The snow elf followed him and took note of another assailant by the door. If these men in these hard shell armor were truly from Solstheim, then Nynrin would need to know of their capabilities and the downside to them.

When Drusus finally equipped himself completely ready to leave but just when he saw the snow elf again- whoever it was, it let out a deep bestial growl before it shrieked- shrieked so loud that it reverberated his eardrums and skull. Drusus lifted his hands to his ears as his head felt like it was hemorrhaging from inside out. Nynrin saw that his ghostly face was distorted into what looked like pain.

"Drus? Are you okay?"

"BOETHIAH!" Drusus yelled.

"Take it off!" Nynrin commanded. But since Drusus couldn't, since the noise was too much. Not only the 'noise' ringing in his mind was worse than a tinnitus, but also white blotches were flashing behind his tightly shut eyes. He started to see visions. Fortunately, Nynrin was quick. His tiny hands grabbed the forearms of the dark elf and held them tightly- all of this enough to keep Drusus' attention. "Take it off! You don't _need_ him."

 _I AM BOETHIAH! HOW DARE YOU DEFY MEEEEE!_ It bellowed.

"Listen to me, Dru- You DON'T NEED this."

Suddenly inky substance came out of his armor so quickly, that its appearance startled Nynrin out of his wits. The blond jumped back but quickly, he grabbed Drusus by his torso. However, the smoke-like wasn't just illusory effect but a real sensation. This black emanation started burning the snow elf's hands and arms. As soon as it touched him, he was greeted with a pain of burns and blisters like he was splattered with a pot of boiling, hot water.

"By the crystal!" Nynrin cried, taking a few steps away- no longer could tolerate the pain. He was amazed by its abrupt damage. "It's burning me."

So all the sudden, the armor identified him as an enemy. The inkly smoke came reaching for him, missing and craving for mer flesh.

Drusus opened his eyes, his blackened eyes suddenly blemished with unnatural, shinier-than-ruby blood-red pupils and he was glaring directly on him. He lowered his arms and as well as his face, narrowing his eyes to clash the emerald pair. A deja'vu. It reminded the blond of that time when Emelyn was possessed. Like she was, Drusus didn't look like his usual self. Nynrin was about to ask this elf to identify himself.

"Boethiah," Drusus snarled, curling his fists tightly in anger. He was as if he was talking to him, except he wasn't. Nynrin knew this. He remained calm as best as he could, despite his arms wringing in pain.

"Boethiah," he said once again, "Listen to me carefully."

"Drusus…" Nynrin said softly, as he inched backward as soon as Drusus began to walk towards him.

"He is right, you know. I don't _need_ you. I am not a slave to anyone. You know what happened to the masters I served? Do you wish to earn my servitude? You can start looking elsewhere…. I will never submit to the thralldom of yours."

"Ok, that's…good. Don't give in."

 _Goooood_? It growled.

"Would you…" Drusus's voice became less severe, "let me be the master?"

 _Whose master?_ _Whom shall you rule?_ It snarled. _Not I._

Drusus' head tilted, his burning eyes never leaving Nynrin's eyes. Despite his eerie look of a dead soul, his face somehow softened up. "You're looking right at him. Of course."

"M-me?" Nynrin asked. Of course, he could not hear any conversation that went on in the other mer's mind.

"It doesn't matter if he is an Altmer or a Falmer. Both have unspeakable crimes to pay for… He and the rest shall be mine. Or ours. We shall be the punishers."

"Drusus… let's just get you out of this," Nynrin approached Drusus again, ignoring the black ink burning his arms. He was determined to get Drusus out of this armor once again.

Again, it shrieked but not out of anger, but out of fear.

 _KILL HIM!_ it screeched.

"Don't listen to him," Nynrin said. Pain. So much pain! He tried to speak but his voice was streaked with pain now to make any sense. Desperately, he searched for the clamps to free Drusus from this enthrallment. And frightfully, Drusus resisted the invading hands that seemed to be touching the most intimate parts of his body. His sides. These fragile hands.

What scared Drusus was the smell of the suffering. He could feel the snow elf being robbed of his vitality and he was in pain. His fragile arms were grabbing him to aid him but Drusus was fighting back, even though he didn't want to. He wanted to let him, but he couldn't. The urge to bare himself once again was next to naught.

 _Kill him. Kill him. Kill him._ It continued to chant, stirring the spirit of his malicious thirst for death.

"No, I won't!" Drusus shouted.

 _Or DRINK him to death, you stupid-ass vampire!_

As soon he heard and felt the clamps being unlocked, Drusus came to reality quickly and finally, he found his strength to push the snow elf back. Nynrin stumbled backward and fell onto the bed that was in front of him.

"Bastard!" Drusus yelled before moving again. He launched himself on top of Nynrin.

"Drommpf!"

Silence flash-flooded his mind. The bestial voice from the infernal inners of hellish realm suddenly vanished.

And there they were- lips locked. Both elves frozen in their place, their eyes met in shock. It took them a while before they both realized what Drusus have done. He had kissed him.

Nynrin broke the kiss, absolutely flustered by this sudden 'move'. Worse than being bit, to be this nauseated. "What the blue div- Get off of me!"

Drusus immediately withdrew from his position and Nynrin rolled over, spitting out whatever that was on his lip. He checked if he had a bad breath.


	5. Chapter 5: Impetuous Fever

Chapter Five: Impetuous Fever

I

 _What?_

When Drusus saw the extent of the damage, a churning sea of sickness came to his throat almost instantly. He swallowed hard, as he wasn't expecting the severity of it. As well he wasn't expecting to have it affect him so easily. He had seen plenty of gruesome deaths, many willfully done by his own bare hands, often in self-defense but never had a tinge of guilt in his conscience before. He never felt guilty for drinking his victims' blood, ultimately killing them. There were no moral qualms about killing innocent people. But this time, for some reason, he had an abhorrence to the sight before him. Of utter detestation in what he had done.

"Nin-Nin."

Nynrin let out a breath sharply at the end- clearly in pain when he slowly peeled the undergarment to reveal the wound. Drusus wanted to look away but he could not make himself to do so. Drusus couldn't see his arms under these sleeves of his fancy white coat, which were totally unaffected by the 'burning'. It was still as immaculate as the first hour he had met Nynrin. He found himself at loss for words.. Of course, having endured and survived for so long, it wasn't the first time he felt nauseated but it was a degree like no others. He was also quite shocked, having seen the redness and the blisters that plagued the snow elf's what used to be beautiful, flawless arms.

Drusus wanted to apologize. Somehow.

"That armor…is really something," Nynrin said, on a verge of sarcasm.

 _I can't believe I did that…_ Drusus thought to himself, trying his hardest to remember HOW he did this. Every word he spoke he remembered but he couldn't explain the fragment of threat which rose from within himself. A fly was more of a threat than the snow elf. _I don't want him to think… I did it on purpose._

No words were exchanged as they prepared to take leave to their destination. Nynrin had already drank a couple of healing potions. But a while ago when he saw that Drusus was staring at him with a face sending different messages, he decided just to pull down his sleeves back on and had said, "Let's just go."

Before they left, Drusus thought about ripping off the head of the assailant and throwing it in a pitfire because at first, he could not pry the mask off the man to reveal whether he was Nordic or something. His ears were concealed. So that he could bring it to have people of Solstheim identify it but Nynrin had convinced him that it'd just take too much time- making a fire, and so on and they had to leave right away for the ship.

They said nothing as they rode their horses towards Windhelm. It was awkward. Drusus, then wished he didn't have to kiss him. But it was the first thing he thought of. To fight off Boethiah's anger somehow but oh boy… Nynrin surely looked pissed as oblivion. And the dark elf hated to apologize… In fact, whenever he apologized, he never meant them. He sighed deeply, not wanting to think about his past.

He looked at Nynrin who was riding Enri quietly and refusing to make any eye contact.

"You… you drank the potions, didn't you?"

Nynrin said nothing.

"Come on, snow elf. Your arms?"

"They're fine."

"You sure?" Drusus highly doubted it. "They looked pretty bad…"

Again, he said nothing. Although Nynrin must admit to himself, he was quite surprised and at least pleased with this new side of him.

Drusus had to think something else. For the first time, the silence wasn't at all pleasant. So at last, he asked, "Tell me more about your city. Or your people. I find it fascinating you don't eat meat. I never met or heard of…"

Drusus left the subject at that- hoping that Nynrin would help fill in the awkwardness that was in the air. After some silence, Nynrin found himself itching to talk, "Well... we do have a name for it. We're called shia' vah, which means one with mother nature. Shia is what we call mother nature. Vah… a person…" Nynrin trailed off, thinking that he would be better off quiet but he felt as if Drusus had his intense blacked-out eyes on him as if he was trying to smolder him from behind.

"Go on," Drusus droned.

"We are all shia-vah, belonging to Nirn- not the other way around. Mers think Nirn and all of its fine creatures belong to them. Consuming animals makes no sense at all. It's like being cannibals, eating our own kinds. And consuming death of animals serve what it does, blocking the arteries and disrupting the balance."

"Because they are living beings," Drusus concluded.

"Yes. They are sentiment beings, capable of emotions as well."

"Plants are living beings too, you know…"

"Yes but because of their properties, which we understood and resonated with, along with nature, we can achieve the enlightenment by going along the flow, not against it. We share and respect each other's space and right to live. They are the closest relatives to us. We're not trees, snowberries, or underground mushrooms. There are reasons why fruits and vegetables are so tasty and have seeds inside."

"So they are asking to be defecated."

"Different vibration and frequency. Eating flesh is the densest thing you can do to make your body incredibly heavy and loaded with metal."

"What?"

"As a mass eating other mass is more mass, more density, slower, retardation-"

"Alright, I get it. That'd explain how filmsy you are." Although he looked absolutely the best- definitely looked healthier than Drusus himself but still, he was too skinny in comparison to him. Of course, being a tank and all, carrying all of these heavy armors and weapons, 'go light' was not an option for him.

"Wanna bet?" Nynrin suddenly smiled. "An endurance test-"

Drusus guffawed. Stamina. He got naught of it! All tanks have tremendous amount of health and strength but very slow. To have stamina at all, you should be light and quick…. Right?

"I'm serious, though," Nynrin ignored the comical distortions of his face and continued, "That is precisely why you get tired so fast, so easily. It's not just because of the need of blood, but the lack of stamina. You just don't have the threshold to compensate your feeding times."

"Oh so you are an expert on vampirism. All the sudden." Drusus said sarcastically, throwing his hands up. "Are you that guy the innkeeper talked about?"

"No. It's just common sense. Blood is liquid, isn't it?"

"Thicker than water. Are you going on about a liquid diet? Since drinking blood isn't shia-va-vah, are you going to try to starve me?"

"Of course not!" Nynrin shot him a certain look that made Drusus laugh. Nynrin was taking it all too seriously. "We cannot force sabre cats to be shia'van. Meat is essential for their heath. They cannot survive on plants alone. That's why we don't domesticate and tame flesh-eating animals or predators. Look at our horses. 100 percent shia'van and they are the most magnificent beasts. Mammoths are also shia-"

And so on, Nynrin went on with his nonsense.

Once they reached Windhelm, which didn't take all that long. Drusus was hungry. It was inching dawn, and they entered Candlehearth, which like any other taverns, was open 24 hours 7 days a week. Of course, he ordered some meat to satisfy his hunger, but not without insisting it to be cooked as little as possible. He couldn't just ask for the meat to be completely raw since it'd raise some suspicion. 'Extra raw juicy' was basically just heating up the meat on the outside.

"I'll have some Black-Briar," Nynrin said to the bartender and Drusus nearly lost it.

II

"Say," Drusus said at last, having had licked his plate clean of any carcass juice, "Is there a ship heading to Solstheim?"

"I'm sorry- what?"

Was the bartender deaf? It was awfully quiet in that tavern, despite having plenty of patrons at the break of dawn- although in absence of an annoying, singing bard, anyone with optimism would be easily plagued by the seasonal depression of awful, bittercold winds which howl its ways unforgivably through many of these tiny alleyways. Clearly the design gave away that it was never meant to be a comfortable inhabitable city. Its ports were somewhat inconvenient too, considering being nestled between snowy mountains and harsh steep terrains.

"I said-"

"Excuse me, but we're in a hurry. We need to know how to reach Solstheim from here."

He chuckled, "Solstheim? Well, you're a bit late. That ship heading there sailed two days ago. And it isn't coming back until.. two week... maybe? If you're lucky."

"Great."

"So, did you see a couple of young men dressed up in strange armor coming through here?" Drusus asked, remembering the note of order.

"Yeah."

"…And? Did they say they were looking for someone?"

"No?"

Drusus sighed. The cultists must have got off by then, went looking for him and found the corpses in the forests nearby. They probably felt they were close by just looking at the bite wounds, and having had been hit a few places here and there, they ultimately followed the trail of blood leading to that abandoned tower. He looked at Nynrin who was the brains of the bunch, looking to see if he had any other ideas. They could not possibly afford to wait for a week… or two. There was no time.

"Excush me," a deep voice said from behind them. It was an older Nord with knotty complexion and full beard speckled with white hairs. One of his eyes was milky, due to cataract. He fixed his ogling eyes on the snow elf, "I mush say… I've never seen a finer high elf ash you. If you hadn't spoken, I've-ave thought you were a fine female elf."

"You want a quick death, trunk-neck?" Drusus shot back. Trunk-neck was an insult to someone with such wide neck, preserved for the Nords. When the Nord turned his face towards him, his breath made it clear he had never chewed peppermint or pulled oil to clean his teeth. No one had good hygiene these days but his was the smell of death. "Ugh…"

"Can't help but overher yer conversation. I'm headin' that way myself…" The Nord's heavily untrimmed mustache muffled much of his speech. Either that or that was how he spoke.

"Wait, you have a ship?" Nynrin said a bit too eagerly.

"Yes… I hap'pen to be thee captain of my ship, Silent Ravager. Now, why in oblivion ye two young lads want to go there? The island is doomed for eternity."

"It's none of your el-damn business," Drusus snarled. Nynrin, nervous as they would blow away the perfect opportunity, spoke louder to keep in engagement with this smelly Nord.

"Listen, it's imperative for us to reach there. Its troubling shores may extend to the mainland-"

"So ye know about thee spawns…" He narrowed his brows, looking serious but strange inquisitiveness sparkled in these old eyes.

"What spawns?" Drusus chimed.

Nynrin gave Drusus a small nudge to let him know when to shut up. Like- now. Of course, he had no idea what the man might be referring to. But the so-called captain, for whatever the reason, felt the need to lecture to the ignorant ones.

"Dark elf, there is no doubt there has been trouble a-brewin' since Yshmar who knows. An' no yer, men or mer, ever has the reason to visit ther. It certainly isn't a th'ourist place, ye know that. Thee Maiden only come once a month and come with nothing valuable! Greedy bastards. Why would ye not want to sell these prechious stones? The island would be swimmin' in gold once again. Isolation-ishim at the finest."

"N'wah- just say what the spawns are?"

"Why! I was talking about thee ash spawns, of coursh! Every'ye goin' there know this. Ye don't know what thee are? How valuable thee are? Ye don't know what yer expecting…? Forget it…"

The Nord was about to walk away but Drusus' hand found its way on his collar. "Listen, s'wit. I don't think you know who I am."

"Let him go," Nynrin grabbed Drusus' wrist, indicating him to stop. But the Nord wasn't at all intimidated. In fact, it seemed like it happened quite often. "I'm really sorry about that. Drusus' a bit drunk. We really want to go Solstheim- and as soon as possible. We'll pay you generously of course?"

"Drunk eh? Ye can't handle thee mead eh?" The Nord let a hearty laugh. "Ive had my eyes on ye'll since thee moment ye stepped in. Especially thee high elf walkin' like a me lady. And ye only had two meads, my frien's. Come an' sit with me an' we'll talk. I buy ye another."

Drusus let out an inaudible growl. If it wasn't for this 'high elf', he wouldn't have made it as far as to make a simple question. His fist would be in this Nord's face long ago. So they went to where he was sitting previously-on a tiny spool table. As soon as they sat, the Nord extended his hand for handshakes.

"Thee name's Ghas."

"Why? Because you're full of it?" Drusus snorted.

"Funny mate. If I get paid hearin' tha ever'time…" Ghas lifted three fingers at the bartender to let him know they wanted another meads headed their way. Then he intertwined his fat fingers on top of his huge belly.

"I'm Nynrin. He's Drusus. So will you kindly tell us more about these ash spawns? Are they cultists?"

"No, no, no. Thee are not men or mer. Thee spawn from the ground. Ash to be more specific since ye know… the whole island is covered with ash. Aint no ye body can breathe well out ther. From what I her, thee spawns drop ores, gems- precious stones when ye kill them. And from what I her, from my frien's of Raven Rock, thee are easy to kill. Easy gold!"

"Undead?" Nynrin widened his eyes in horror.

"I don't know. Maybe. I don't think so. Thee just explode, I her. No skeletons or anythin'"

"So that's why you're going there. To amass gems and sell them?" Drusus gathered. Because ash spawns were from the soil, they carried these ores and gems somewhere on their bodies. Obviously, ores and gems could be found dug out of soil, but then it would have to be deep enough. Drusus doubted the authenticity of this rumor. It just sounded too easy and convenient for it to be true. Besides, if it was true, wouldn't the island be flooded with gold hunters? Ah, right, the strange mist surrounding the islands and flying dragons might be good reason.

"Ye got it! Thus the reason why I am not goin' to ask for gold. Though, ther is something I'd like to have."

Drusus quickly caught that smug look and pass Ghas made at Nynrin. Growling, he said, "He's mine."

Nynrin's cheeks turned rosy red. Wait what!? Drusus slapped his palm on the back of Nynrin's neck as if he wanted to make a point. Since when? Nynrin was left baffled, not knowing to say. He never would have expected Drusus to be… possessive. The next thing he knew, he had the dark elf's lips placed on his.

It wasn't until Nord let another hearty laugh did he realize.

"Ye misunderstand, me lads. Nynrin, innit? Yer weapon. Tell me more about it. I have my shar of archers an' neva seen such a finer piece."

"What of use!" Drusus shouted, wondering why he would want or need a bow. Ghas did not look like he could even hold a broadsword. All he saw on him was a sheathed iron dagger and he was terribly obese.

"Weapons an' tools are just valuable as gold, me lads. I spend most of my lifetime on the seas than lands. Gold, good for ports. At seas, useless. We need defend too. Ye understand?"

"But I need this weapon," The blond said, shifting in his seat uncomfortably with his hand placed on his knee. If the bow wasn't placed on his back, he would've placed his hand onto it, in instinct of protecting it. This time around, Nynrin realized how attached he was. It meant a lot to him. And he did not even name it. In fact, when he killed those who attacked Drusus, he felt something that was tugging at his conscience. They were his first kills. The bow now had blood on it. Not literally, but still… it already had a story.

"When ye kill ash spawns, thee explode spitfires. Hot. Hot!" Ghas started to whoop and spit to imitate like he ate something really hot, "H-hot. Pssh! Somethin'… like fire."

"Yeah, yeah. I get it. They explode and burn you," Drusus said, growing impatient. He didn't even touch the mead that was freshly opened.

"So I need archers… and bows."

"Can't you just buy ones from the blacksmith here? If they are easy to kill, then iron or steel- no problem. Just aim right."

"Ah… then will ye lads buy me some?" Ghas smirked.

"How many?" Nynrin asked.

"Oh… I don't know… maybe fifteeeeee-"

"B'vek!? 50? You don't have 50 men!" Drusus shot back, losing it. "Unless you own almamalk'lam ouakhas!" He cursed in Dunmeri. "V'et!"

"What did you just say?" Nynrin said. "Never mind."

"Ye… ye know iron an' steel don't stinkin' last, lads! Besides, I said fifteen. Not fifty."

Almost immediately, Nynrin got up, took the old Nord's hand and shook it with both hands, showing his appreciation, "Thank you. You are too kind. I will get them for you right away. Come on, let's go. Drusus."

"W-wait a minute," Drusus started but Nynrin was eager to pull him out of his seat.

"Now!" the snow elf ordered. It was hilarious to hear him trying to sound commanding. Drusus cracked a smile.

"Nin-nin… the blacksmith shop isn't open yet at this hour…"

"Oh…" Nynrin sat back in his seat, clearly embarrassed. More and more patrons were coming in.

"Say when we're leaving?" Drusus asked. Suddenly, he seemed like an alright guy.

"Oh anytime, me lads. I've been her since yesterday morn' and my men already itchin' to leave this skeeverhole… I will be right here when ye are ready. Just look for 'Rave'- the ger part is off the ship but 'Rave'- I just painted the e ther. Stock it ther, mate, eh mate?"

III

"You know… At that rate you spend your gold, we'd be flat broke before we even reach the el-damned island," Drusus muttered as he went inside the room of the inn to spend the day and night. The bed was inconveniently placed facing the door. It was bad luck. Anyone can just barge in and kill you instantly before even stepping into the room.

"You're right," Nynrin said, taking out his satchel which became so much lighter than the previous night. Hopefully gold wasn't much of an issue on that island. "He says that the inhabitants aren't too wild about gold. Hope he's right."

"And don't expect any warm welcome or help," Drusus added, sitting on the bed. A bed better than the ones in the tower, as it had much more cushioning. Still narrow, though- too small for two men, but Drusus knew they'd better off saving a few septims and that he wasn't going to sleep. Nynrin, on the other hand, was exhausted. He was already lying down and turned over to one side. Naturally, Drusus helped covering the tiny window with its fabrics, lowering the room's brightness significantly.

There was a long silence. There were noises from outside in the marketplace and of course, during daylight, that was normal. Meanwhile, in the midst of silence, Drusus took his ebony mail off again, ignoring the mocking chants of 'You defy me. You defy me. You defy me.'

Boethiah just couldn't make up his mind. First, he wanted Drusus to make his own conscious choice to challenge authority, but not of his? Secondly, who was his target? Drusus vaguely read a book once on different daedrae, and there was a very little information written about Boethiah. Some sources say Boethiah is exactly the opposite of Molag Bal, who wants slaves for himself. Boethiah wants slaves to rise and rebel against their masters. And some sources say Boethiah still would place some compliance or subjection to his rule. Like killing in the name of vengeance.

But in the end, like any other daedric princes, human and mer alike are just pawns they like to play and trying to checkmate others by using the best of the best warriors. The champions so to speak.

"Don't tell me you're going to sleep."

"I'm really tired, Drus," Nynrin said. He caught himself before he could place the blame on him. It wasn't what he did- but what his armor did. Or was it Boethiah. Either way, it was almost as if it was literally sucking the life out of him as well, in addition to the burning. Thanks to his masters back home, he had potent potions which healed his arms almost entirely. Though they weren't made specifically for burns. Rather of universal use, to say at the least.

That was why Nynrin insisted on buying glow dust at the marketplace. He had some ice wraith teeth in his pockets already. Plus a secret ingredient, these were for simple but potent potions, which healed even burns.

"I don't know what to do. I hate waiting," Drusus muttered, sitting on the bed, "I'll get bored… tell me more about yourself… again. Maybe your boring lectures make me sleepy."

Nynrin was not in the mood to talk, closing his eyes- trying to slumber off. "How about you? I haven't learned much from you. Why don't you tell me about yourself instead?"

Drusus scoffed and pondered for a minute. "Bah. Me? I don't know. Where do I start?"

"How about your childhood? Did you have a good life?"

"You're kidding me, right? You gotta be… alright. Well, fine. Maybe you'll like this one. I grew up in a town in Somerset- you know- where all the high elves lived. Both of my parents were Dunmer and of course, we were hated everywhere. Well, one day, some n'wah came to tell me my father was deep, deep in debt. So he got rid of me."

Nynrin slowly opened his eyes. When there was further no more coming from across the room- as if Drusus was waiting for Nynrin to absorb all of it.

"Got rid of you?"

"Yeah, ata-Pa sold me into slavery. al-Ma promised me that she'll collect more gold to buy me back, whatever that meant. And well… they never came back. Maybe they got killed… or just never gave a bal about me."

"That's awful."

"That's not the worst part," Drusus said, "I was sold to this filthy wealthy family of the Altmers, who treated me less than a skeever."

"… …you have friends and admirers from Riften," Nynrin offered condolence.

"You were there, huh? Eh, whatever. I'm alright now."

Nynrin disagreed with that as Drusus was FAR from alright. But everything made sense now. Why he hated Altmers and were able to tell the difference.

"I killed them out of anger, when I was about 16… and then I managed to escape. Till I reached Skyrim, I thought I was safe. Boy was I wrong. 7 years, they were still looking for me. Just when I thought about settling down in Markarth, I had my head on a tree trunk, getting ready to be executed for a 'crime' which they did not even know. Having a bounty on my head was more than enough. The Altmers would have wanted me back alive so that they can savor torturing me again. They would never let me get out the easy way…"

Nynrin then remembered that vision he had before.

"Then a dragon came out of nowhere- that moment you are realized as the dragonborn."

"I… how did you know that?"

"I saw the vision.. or I dreamt it. I am not sure. Cyra-El cleared it up for me. The dragon was speaking in ancient. And you passed out. Fire… Fire everywhere. Running. You were running."

Drusus could not believe how accurate he was. Helgen was in peril of infernal fires. These visions? How do they happen anyway? Were there certain triggers?

"Do you get premonitions or something?"

"All the time. Sometimes I find myself expecting little things- like cups to fall or something and it happens."

"You nearly had me killed in my sleep…"

"Well, that was…"

Drusus chuckled, "Take it easy. No way that I would not hear them coming. I would have killed them in my sleep anyway."

"Does the armor help a lot, though? It detects enemies, doesn't it?"

"Sometimes. Boethiah tests the oblivion outta me. It's annoying."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you pick Boethiah?"

Drusus suddenly went quiet. When he had time, he would sneak and steal some books from his master's library and most of his favorite books had to do with daedric princes. He liked the legends of Molag Bal and Boethiah the most. But in the end, he preferred one over the other because Molag Bal stood for everything he suffered- enslavement and vampirism. The choice may be this obvious to any mortal but Drusus couldn't help but feel there was much more to it. Boethiah won his heart. And you can't always explain why you fall in love at all.

"…Drusus?"

"I can't say why," Drusus finally said. "He's annoying as oblivion. But I love him."

"So it's a … he?"

"Yea, I feel it's a he. Very."

Although he had never seen Boethiah in any physical or visual form, Drusus felt that even an obscure daedric prince from the darkest pit of oblivion could be considered once-mortal. There was a sense of feeling as if he was part of who it was. Or the other way around. Either way, Boethiah was almost like a mortal. Otherwise, it would've lacked so much of a personality. Maybe it was all in his head. Maybe he was portraying Boethiah in such a way that a mer would connect. A victim to be picked.

Nynrin, on the other hand, continued to lay there, trying to fall asleep but the back story of this dark elf lingered his mind, in an attempt to re-envision how he lived from his childhood. He could not fathom what Drusus had been through. He sighed softly. But. There was a strange comfort in knowing Drusus better. From now on, Nynrin would keep his mind open and be wary of Drusus' origins. There must be someone out there who knew how dovahkiins were chosen.

IV

Nightfall came.

It was so damn depressing and dispiriting when they first walked the streets of Windhelm. Muddy snow, and constant freezing moisture due to frequent mixed hail. Only one color coordinated this morbid city- gray. To match its hovering dark clouds. Plenty of poverty and sickness around. Stone-cold architecture, lacking arts and culture. Nynrin couldn't wait to get onto that ship.

It took an entire day to reach there. And the dawn came up, streaking the skies bright orange. The whole island from distance was painted in a harmony of warm colors. In the midst of strange mist, there was some strange pointy architecture neither Drusus nor Nynrin seen anything remotely similar to the ones they have seen or known. Stood at the edge of the boat the archers and Captain Ghas, strange silence became the air and wary eyes upon the shores.

"It looks worse up close than from the castle," muttered Drusus, breaking the somber atmosphere among the crew.

 _Ah, the abandoned frontier of the imperials for centuries. This should be interesting what unfortunate still doing there…_ Boethiah said as if he was watching through the dark elf's eyes.

Something green was peeking through the mist. A tall stone of some sort. Another standing stone? But none of these stones Drusus had visited had a glowing green color. A lighthouse? Nah, it couldn't have been. What was more bizarre to Drusus than this glow was the lack of dragons flying around. He saw so many from the castle's balcony but he only could see a faint, small shadow of one… or maybe two.

"What's that over there?" Nynrin asked.

"What?"

Nynrin pointed his finger toward the end of the horizon where the whole island met the ocean.

"Who knows? Not I," responded Ghas. "Neva been near ther to see what it was. Ye can ask aroun' if ye want but they ain't so friendly, innit."

"I will get some answers," Drusus said, determined. "Surely, this is the right place, Nin-nin?"

"Surely, I can feel it." Nynrin pulled his hood up, not wanting to show too much of himself.

As the boat inched the dock, it became apparent it was a port town. By the name of Raven Rock. And there were several guards waiting, seemly for them. These guards… were wearing that same strange material they had seen on the cultists. But they were wearing complete concealing helmets with an olong shape in the back of them, rather than simple masks. And their armors were the most bulky of all, next to dwarven armors. And the ugliest.

"Not again! You, GHAS?" Some dark elf standing on the wood deck said exasperatedly. He was wearing a formal clothing, which could meant someone important. "Now. Now… before you set afoot on this dock, I must say that I have never seen your comrades!"

"Calm down, Adrin. Thee are with me."

"Adril!" the dark elf corrected him. He turned sharp eyes upon the 'comrades' he certainly did not recognize. "Outlanders, state your business."

"None of your business," Drusus snapped and was already climbing to the dock. As soon as he got onto it, he offered his hand towards Nynrin. "Here, m'lady."

To his surprise, the blond eagerly took it. He was joking.

"Guards!" Adril cried. But the guards were not certain of what to do. They circled the duo, weapons drawn. But Drusus was not at all worried. "Outlanders," Adril said with a warning voice, "That kind of attitude will land you in prison one day. Can you last a day even?"

"What's your problem? And more importantly, who in oblivion are you?" Drusus moved closer to the dark elf. Although they were both dark elves, Drusus' stunning stature and black eyes were intimidating enough to make a giant walk away. He was much taller than the mer before him, and it wasn't long before Adril lost his cool composure. But he had his lovely guards to watch his back.

"Listen, outlander, This is a Morrowind territory. Not Skyrim. Remember that. You must abide by our laws while you are here. Otherwise-"

"Who are you? Some n'wah councilor?"

"Watch your language!" he stuttered, apparently appalled by Drusus' unwavering brashness. Usually, visitors were uncertain they made the right decision to arrive this morbid island. "As a matter of fact, yes I am. The security of Raven Rock is my primary concern. This isn't exactly a Blacklight city."

"What is that?" Drusus asked.

"What?" Adril seemed surprised, "You're a dunmer. You should know that it's a capital of Morrowind."

"Screw you. Me being a dunmer doesn't mean I came from where they- or you- came from, s'wit."

Since Adril was a councilor, Nynrin knew he must have an extensive knowledge of Soltheism. So he approached to the dark elf, "What can you tell us about this island or this town? We'd love to know more before we venture."

Ghas finally managed to get up the dock and left his crew behind to unload some things. "I'll be at Retchin', lads. Have a good talk."

Adril sighed heavily and crossed his arms. The guards took this as a cue to sheathe their weapons and began to retreat to their positions. Nynrin wondered why Adril was so suspicious of visitors.

"About a century ago, the Imperials abandoned this island as the military base here was not needed anymore. The mining had dwindled. So the remaining elves took this as their home, but even to this day, we are struggling to make it livable. It's hard to grow crops at all on this island filled with unfertile soil and ashes. But for the past few years, the ashes just seemed to get worse and worse. We are not sure why-"

Drusus wanted to get to the point. "Well, do you know some s'wit called Miraak?"

"Drusus!" Nynrin cried, afraid to give away their mission.

"What? He might had something to do with it!" Drusus defended.

"Miraak?" Adril said, frowning. Then he lifted his finger to his chin, "That name sounds so familiar…"

There was a long silence.

"No… he can't be from this town. But I heard it around, I'm sure…"

 _He's here. He's here…_ it laughed. _Two dragonborns._ _I'll be first to witness this glorious feast…_

Drusus walked past him toward the town, not wasting any more time. Nynrin, however, was polite and gave his thanks. For a split second, Drusus was reminded of Vilkas. When Nynrin finally caught up to him, he whispered, "We can't let them know too much."

"Why? How are we going to find him if we don't ask around?" Drusus was growing irritated by Nynrin's discreetness. They went into a marketplace and had to ask a guard to find this place Ghas called Retchin'. At first, the buildings or the dwellings appeared too small for even two people. They must be dug out or burrowed because they clearly stood above ground as entrance or foyer of some sort- the way they were curved in the back. Their curvatures, ribbiness, and shiny, nonporous surfaces appeared to be as if they stumbled into an entirely different civilization. And there weren't that many townsmen or townsmers, thus the lack of signs. And all these dwellings were identical, with an exception of ones near the shores.

"Let's ask about the stone," Nynrin whispered. Drusus turned to catch Nynrin peeking out his white hood. It was ridiculous. This 'high elf' in all white garment was standing out so much, and he was already acting the most suspicious one of all. Shaking his head in dismay, he descended the stairs before them. And this Retchin' Netch was completely empty and devoid of patrons with an exception of one enormous shape of Ghas in one corner.

"Aye, lads! Get yerself some ales. Ther drinks aren't so bad!" He waved a massive mead mug back and forth, spilling some over his lap.

"Long time no see," Drusus shot back, rolling his eyes. He hoped to never see him again after this- what would be an interrogation. Nynrin was already at the bar, speaking with the bartender.

"We'll have just water," he said, nodding in such a manner which he hoped spoke of a long journey across the sea.

"Why? Won't you try my newest brew?" said the dunmeri bartender, Geldis Sadri, "I call it Sujamma. Please try it! You'll be the very first mer to try this! Of all Solstheim! By the way, welcome to Raven Rock!"

"Thank you, but no I'm not interested-"

"Don't you tight-assed High elves ever relax sometime!?"

"He's not an Altmer," Drusus pointed at his blond companion, totally unaffected by mannerism, "He's a Falmer."

Anyone would be lying if silence flash-flooded the room- because it was already so quiet, you could hear someone blink. Geldis' facial expression turned deadly serious. His eyebrows narrowed in melancholy and his eyes were squeezed as if they were inspecting what was in front of them. At that moment, Drusus wanted to scoff. He didn't expect someone would take him seriously or even believe something like that. And he could already feel Nynrin's murderous stare lasering the side of his face.

"I was joking, I guess he is," Drusus muttered, his face burning with embarrassment. No one appreciated his sense of humor anymore, even when it didn't involve killing someone.

Then Nynrin gave out a nervous laughter, "He's just joking. What a joker…"

 _Bwahahaha_. Joined Boethiah. So awkward.

"Ohh…" was all Geldis could muster but he didn't seem to be entirely convinced.

"Okay, it was a little joke between us. You see, I call him Falmer not because he looks like… well you know- the snow elf but not the Falmer from the underground-"

Nynrin just face-palmed. Drusus just went on with this nonsense.

"-because I know what they look like. And they're so v'etla ugly. So I joke around and call him a Falmer, because you know- he is so el-damn ugly."

Geldis looked at Nynrin closely again. "But he's not ugly."

"… That's the joke."

"That doesn't make any sense. So you exchange compliments for insults? Calling someone a skeever is an insult. But to call a Bosmer a Dunmer because you don't like Dunmer but you like the Bosmer? That doesn't make any sense!"

It just occurred to Drusus that no ordinary men or mer ever encountered Falmers from the underground before so he gave up explaining.

"Don't act like you're an angel. We are all racists here."

"But Falmer is a DEAD race."

"Drop it."

"So you want him dead. Drop dead. Is that it? You are wishing death-"

"You just called him tight-assed high elf, you S'WIT!" Drusus bellowed. If anyone was trained enough to listen to silence, Boethiah could be heard snickering.

"That isn't a racist-"

"Please, stop it! Please, I implore you both," Nynrin cried. "We don't want any trouble. Trust me. We just want to have some answers as to why this island is troubled."

"Troubled, you say? Oh we were just fine here… until this mal MAL N'WAH V'ET came in!" Geldis spat, his spit flying with triumph. Instantly, Nynrin knew what was going to happen next. He grabbed both of Drusus' arms and turned him to stop from reaching over the countertop to strangle Geldis, perhaps snap his neck without any effort.

"Listen to me, Drusus, please. Sit."

Drusus then cursed in his mother tongue. Of course Geldis, being a dunmeri as well, understood what he was saying. Then he calmed down. It was strange how quickly Nynrin mended his temper. Sighing, Drusus muttered, giving a final dirty shot at him. "I know you know what I'm saying, bastard."

 _Oooohhhh_ … Boethiah purred, _How quickly Nynrin soothe your fury anger with his voice. Please, Drusus… ohhhh… just 'V'ET' me._

Like a good boy, Drusus went away, never having had the thought of wishing to be Ghas' company again. There were so many Dunmer on this island and Drusus was growing to hate his own kind. Ghas, on the other hand, was chuckling at this whole ordeal. "Wer doin' just fiiiine, sshir." He expanded his arms for the whole, empty place to embrace him. "Right, laaadsss?"

"No wonder there no patrons here," Drusus said solemnly, suddenly finding himself looking for support. To have someone on your side, not even Boethiah could provide that.

Geldis had his arms folded, looking very displeased. Nynrin looked at him seriously. But no pleading, big sparkling green eyes would do. Geldis said no. Before Nynrin even spoke a word.

"I'll try your S..skooma?"

"What!?"

Ghas blurted in laughter. "SHKOOMA! HE said s-shkooma!"

"I'm not a drug dealer! Do you want to be thrown in jail?" Geldis frowned.

"Can he be any more obvious?" Drusus said to Ghas, which in response was a 'poor lad!' "HEY! I'm A SKARD! Can anyone sell me SKOOMA!"

And Ghas just lost it. Nynrin never felt so humiliated by his own companions. He must have picked it up from elsewhere but where? His Riften drinking buddies? He had no idea what skard meant but he safely assumed it wasn't a kind word for somebody who is addicted to some drug.

"I-I'm sorry. What was it? The drink you just mentioned… I don't-I'm not familiar with-"

Geldis couldn't deny the ignorance that was written all over this blond elf's face and how naïve he sounded. He sighed and interrupted his wave of excuses. "It's Sujamma."

"Thank you," Nynrin said meekly. "I'll try that."

"Even so, I won't answer you unless you distribute these sujammas for me."

"Looks like you landed a job here already!" Drusus hollered. Secretly, Nynrin was growing angry with him. But anger wasn't something he had to deal with back at home.

 _He's just coping… just coping from the anger._ Nynrin tried to reason with himself. _He doesn't like the feeling of defeat. He doesn't like to be told what to do…_

"Well?" Geldis said, still waiting for a response. Nynrin then realized he had been clenching the edge of the countertop with his nails very tightly and was contemplating about even intentionally harming Drusus. In name of revenge? Nynrin needed to get it together! It was very uncharacteristic of him, even for someone who had to kill. He would never respond with anger. So, he saw no other choice but to give in. Well, not give in. More like ignore and just do it. There was tinge of bitterness when he recollected the fate of his own people. The stories of how the Falmer gave into the false sense of security, their trust in the Dwemer ultimately led to slavery and lastly, their demise. Perhaps, this would be one of the many instances Nynrin understood Drusus' anger.

"Yes. I will do that too. Thank you."


End file.
